


Through the Veil

by Goddess_of_the_Multiverses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harry, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, F/M, Gen, Harry thinking for himself, Hermione Granger Bashing, Manipulative Dumbledore, Original Character(s), Pansy Parkinson Bashing, Ron Being an Asshole, Ron Weasley Bashing, Sane Tom Riddle, darker harry potter, manipulated order of the phoenix, sheep order of the phoenix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4154058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_of_the_Multiverses/pseuds/Goddess_of_the_Multiverses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1943, Tom Riddle's mentor disappears, only for her to reappear in 1996. For Abigail, little time has passed and her Tom is gone, but a new Tom is on the rise. Harry Potter could so easily be her Tom, with just a small push. Abigail knows the only way to find her again Tom is with this Harry child. Nothing, and no one, will stop her from reaching Tom, not this time. Tom Riddle/Original Character.</p>
<p>Warnings: Manipulative!Evil!Dumbledore, Sheep!Order, Darker!Harry, Ron and Hermione bashing, Parkinson bashing Possibly eventual slash?, somewhat sane/reasonable Voldemort, Sane!Tom Riddle, and Draco being less of a prat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Through the Veil** _

“Incorrect.”

Cursing, Abigail Nightingale smudged out her rune and remarked it again. It was the third time she as being told to redraw it and her patience was wearing thin. “It would help if you would allow me to see the book,” she grumbled, knowing that the complaint would only be mocked.

As expected, her mentor chuckled, shaking his head. “Dear, I have been telling you to memorize these since you found the ritual. It will work best that way. More of your magic will flow into them, offering more success to the result of the ritual itself.”

“Useless god...always insisting I do things the difficult way...what will it matter if I am looking at a book or not? Magic won't notice.” Even with her grumblings, the young witch knew her mentor was correct. They had gone over it before and she had seen the proof when she allowed her magic to weave itself into her actions.

With a wave of her hand and a few muttered Latin words, Abigail willed away her draw runes. Her chosen surface clear, she closed her eyes and allowed her magic to flow through the ink coating her hands. Satisfied, eyes stilled closed, the witch began drawing the runes as they appeared in her mind. Though reluctantly, she as forced to admit her mentor had been right in his advice, as he often was.

Loki shook his head at the girl. She reminded him of his Fenrir with how stubborn she could be, yet was otherwise so much like his Hel. That was the original reason he took her on, because Abigail reminded him of his daughter Hel, who he had rarely seen since Odin appointed her as ruler of Helheim. Both girls held a love for knowledge, though Abigail seemed willing to do anything to gain it while Hel simply waited for it to appear.

Abigail turned out to be exactly what he could have wanted in an apprentice. Perhaps the mortal girl could do more in the realm of patience, but her thirst for knowledge and willingness to learn made up for that. That was the only reason the child had lasted so long beside him. It helped that her magical core was vibrate and large. Her power matched her want of knowledge. She would not have been much used to him otherwise, especially with her mortality.

“Master,” the word sounded bitter coming from the girl, but was enough to draw his attention. “I have finished.”

Nodding, Loki glanced up. The doorway and ground surrounding it was covered in runes. Each was intertwined with a bit of young Abigail's magic, exactly as the ritual required it to be. Doing a final check of the shapes, he nodded and closed the old tome. “Very good. It seems you have finally discovered those brains of yours, child.”

Abigail let out a huff and turned from him, but knew better than to say anything. She had been in the wrong and knew that. Further words would only point that out. “May we try it now?...I am anxious to go home.”

It had been five long years since she had been there; five years since she basically collapsed on Loki's doorstep. Every chance she had while in Asgard, or wherever her mentor took her, was spent search for further a way home. Abigail had been wanting this for a long time. Even when they found a tome, the one Loki held now, with a potential ritual the year before, she had been wanting to try it immediately, no matter the risks it had. Instead, she reluctantly took Loki's advice and spent a year tuning her magical core further with the magic of his realm, the magic that would be required in this specific ritual. It would save her an unfortunate death, he had said. Hopefully, her precaution would not be wasted.

Smiling, the god nodded. “Yes.” Stepping to her, he cupped her cheek. “If this is successful, it may be a long while before you see me again. Know that I will be watching you, that I will not leave you alone. You are my charge and it is my job.”

Abigail allowed her hand to rest over Loki's. “I know. You are my patron god; you are my mentor; you have taught me so much. I know you could never leave me be. It would be to easy and you never take the easy way,” she grinned.

Chuckling and shaking his head, Loki took a step back. “That is true. Now, concentrate child. You will need all your magic for this.” Giving a determined nod, the mortal focused on the doorway and runes before her. Immediately, Loki could see as the magic reacted even before she spoke the required chant. “Focus on your magical core. We have found it through meditation before, now find it again. Yes...there it is. Now, you need to feel the raw power and put as much of it into the runes as you can. Save a small amount for the journey. It will help guild you. Yes...You have this Abigail.”

Loki couldn't take his eyes from her as she began chanting. Her voice was smooth, humming with the sheer force of her magic. He was reminded of how her magic so resembled her surname, as if it was made for it. “Goodbye, my dear Nightingale.” The mortal girl stepped forward; she and the doorway were engulfed with a blinding light. As it faded away, both Abigail Nightingale and the runes were gone. “I will see you again in a different realm, my dear apprentice.”

**X.x.X.x.X**

Had she not gone through such strenuous mental preparation with her master, Abigail knew the journey would have caused her to fall unconscious, if not killed her. Allowing her breaths to become less calculated and more natural, she focused on her destination. Upon opening her eyes again, she saw her magic forming a path in the darkness. Grinning, she willed her body forward, ignoring the drain that worsened as she moved.

It was only when she felt the affects of gravity again that Abigail took note of the affect both the ritual and journey had on her core and body. The edges of her vision blurred and her knees shook, begging for release of the burden that was her body. Even breathing was becoming difficult as the magic of a different realm held her, attempting to pull her back.

_'Warn him...'_ The voice was a faint whisper and rough, as if recovering from lack of use. Abigail cried out as her Occlumency shields were shattered. Images of a teenage boy filled her mind, his raven black hair wild and his gem-like green eyes filled with fear and sadness.  _'Save him from that fate.'_ Then, she was released as quickly as it happened. Her shields shimmered back into place and the realm of darkness released its hold on her, prompting Abigail to collapse.

The pounding in her ears and ragged attempts at collecting breath were enough to block out alarms blaring around her. It was only when she felt new magic that the young woman lifted her head. Surrounding her were a group cloaked in silver and black, faces hidden in shadows. She let out a shrill laugh, thrilled at knowing the legendary Unspeakables thought her such a danger to give her the welcome of wands aiming her way. Despite the situation, she couldn't help but finding the humor in the deadly situation.

The blackness began edging into her vision again. This time, it had nothing to do with the voices of the lost realm that tried to reach out for her. Instead, it was her magic failing. Too much had went into the ritual and journey, leaving her with little to stabilize her afterwards. The Unspeakable before her seemed to realize this, perhaps from the way her body swayed, as it approached her, wand lowering.

Abigail did not protest as the hand touched her shoulder and the shadowed face leveled with her gaze. “Rest...your magic needs to rebuild or you will die.”

Again, the young witch let out a shrill laugh. It was so funny, but she couldn't place why. Abigail remembered the face of the dark haired, bright eyed boy a Lost Voice had sent to her. It reminded her of another dark haired, bright eyed boy and her entire reason for coming back, coming home. “Tom...I need—Tom.” Giving a final chuckle, she stopped fighting and collapsed into the Unspeakable's arms as her world became black.

 


	2. Charming Illusions

_**Through the Veil** _

_**Charming Illusions** _

It was early morning on the thirty-first of July when Albus Dumbledore received a letter from one Alice Crooket of the Ministry of Magic, requesting his appearance immediately at St. Mungo's Bonham ward. She stated that the matter was, indeed, urgent and she wouldn't have bothered writing him had it not been, knowing of the Hogwart's Headmaster's and her Minister's relations at the moment.

The letter had made Albus pause. Not only did he not recognize the woman's name, but he knew what the Bonham ward was used for. It had been one of the first wards established by Healer and founder of St. Mungo's Mungo Bonham. Further, most people did not believe of its existence. It had become nothing but a rumor, for most people were not admitted to the ward. From the gossip he had heard, Albus could conclude that the ward was for people that the ministry did not want to know about and the healers that worked within the ward were as secretive as Unspeakables. It was obvious in saying that Albus was eager to discover the truth about this secret that had been kept from him.

Being requested there was what made Albus leave immediately, putting his plans for Harry to be thought through at a later date. After all, the boy had waited a majority of the summer the year before. An extra week would not hurt the boy, whether he be grieving the loss of his godfather or not. Yes. Harry Potter could wait if it meant discovering one of the wizarding world's most well kept secrets.

**X.x.X.x.X**

Alice Crooket's was a lean woman with mousy brown hair that hugged her jaw line. Her skin was pale and nose sloped. The most remarkable thing about her were the deep pits of brown that were her eyes, but Albus had seen the same type of eyes on his potions master and was easily able to dismiss them. She was, simply, a very forgettable person and, had he not been looking for it, he would have missed the thin line of magic that marked her glamour running along the edge of her jaw. Upon closer inspection, Albus would notice the slight shimmer of magic on many of her features, making it difficult to identify what had been glamoured and what had been her original features. Her first words upon seeing the headmaster were, “Do not bother, Mister Dumbledore.”

That caused Albus to blink in confusion before he realized she was referring to the glamour. He smiled, bringing the twinkle to his blue eyes. “Yes, I assumed as much Ms. Crooket. Shall we get to the reason you have requested my presence?”

Alice gave him a skeptical look before simply accepting his demeanor. “Very well. This way Mister Dumbledore.”

The hallway he was lead through was unremarkable and Albus did not doubt he would not remember it the moment he left. It would only look like another ward, which was no doubt what they had hoped for. It was only when he was lead into a room and saw the patient within that he paused, his breathing catching.

The young woman was asleep on the bed, magical monitors attached to the woman. A healer stood at her bedside, making notes of her progress as he checked her. Upon seeing Alice and Albus, the healer offered them a nod before leaving the room. The older wizard zeroed in on the woman within the white sheets as he and the ministry official were left alone in the room.

She looked almost the same as when Albus had last seen her. The only differences that he noted from young Abigail Nightingale was the, now, pale tent to her skin and the length in her raven hair. If she were to wake, Albus was sure he would see his old student's pale jade eyes, either lacking emotion or full of mischief.

“From your reaction, I see that we made the right decision in informing you,” Alice commented, watching Albus with a calculated gaze. Seeing she had the man's attention, she went on. “Her magical signature is cloaked with a type of magic we have not seen before. The ward's best healers are currently working on breaking down whatever barrier she has put around herself.

“We asked for your presence, Mister Dumbledore, because we were able to pick up on your magical signature.” Alice barely suspense her smirk at seeing the frown that marred Albus' face. “From what Healer Jaysue can detect, you were the last magical person around her. My colleagues and I were hoping you could inform us on your last encounter with this woman as well as any other information you can give us. We would like to be able to inform her family.”

It took longer than Albus would have liked for him to tear his gaze away from the unconscious Abigail and focus on Alice. “Do you think I did this to her? That I could have put her in this state?”

A twinkle of her own entered Alice's eyes. “We would simply like to know more information about her,” she said neutrally.

Albus cursed silently as he realized how much that single statement could have given away about his involvement with the girl. From the twinkle in Alice's eyes, she had picked up on it. No matter. He could easily spin this to be in his favor. Clearing his throat, Albus focused his eyes on the unconscious woman again. “Her name is Abigail Nightingale and she was a student of mine at one point, when I was still a professor.” He paused, allowing those words to sink in. Not receiving the reaction he had been hoping for, a gasp from Alice, he went on. “It was a few weeks before her graduation for Hogwarts that she went to the Headmaster at the time, Armando Dippet, and asked to leave Hogwarts for the weekend. Miss Nightingale explained that it was a family emergency, that an aunt was dying and she wanted to see the woman before she passed. I was requested to escort her to Kings' Cross Station so that she may apparate home.

“Something seemed off with her that day. I did not place it until a few days later, when she did not return for classes on Monday. You see, Miss Nightingale had said something to me before she left. She had said 'I have done many things in this world which I regret, I merely hope I will be forgiven for them and he will learn from my mistakes'. I told her that everything can be forgiven and asked who she was speaking of. Miss Nightingale never answered me, simply giving me a sad smile and disapparating.” Albus turned to took at Alice now. “I must say, looking back on it, I wish I would have stopped her. For many years, I have blamed myself for her disappearance.”

“Did anyone ever contact this woman's family?” Alice asked calmly despite the annoyance turning inside her. She could understand why the Minister did not like this man at the moment. He had a way with words, but she had been specifically trained to see around those types.

“Of course,” Albus chuckled. “They had not seen her. We lost contact with the Nightingales after that. They simply disappeared from Britain.” A sense of triumph filled him as the old wizard knew the ministry employee believed his story. They always did. “Can you tell me what has become of young Abigail? Why has she not aged since the last time I saw her?”

Alice Crooket met his eyes. She felt the slight probing at her mental shields and barely contained a frown. Deciding she would play along, she dropped the first of her shields and allowed him to see what she wanted of her memories of Abigail. “We are still working on that. She was found on the ninth level of the Ministry, in the Death Chamber. Ah, now you understand why we have been so secretive about the whole event. If someone discovered how she had gotten in there, the press would have a field day.”

Albus' eyebrows shot into his hairline in both shock and surprise. The Death Chamber? His eyes darkened a shade as he looked to the young Nightingale, remembering his last encounter with her. It, too, had been in that fated Death Chamber. That was why this all troubled him so. He had _seen_ Abigail die in 1943. Like with Sirius, there should be no possible way for her to still be in this world. “Extraordinary.” His mind raced as he thought how to right this wrong. “What will happen to her?”

“She will be studied within this ward until she wakes. When, if, that happens, she will be questioned. What happens after depends on her answers.”

Nodding, Albus sighed in what would sound like defeat. “I request to be there for her questioning.” He straightened and turned fully to Alice. “Miss Nightingale never finished her stay at Hogwarts. She is technically under guardianship of the school, as she is still registered. Seeing as I am Headmaster of Hogwarts, I wish to be with her through ever step of this.” It would insure Abigail only revealed what he wanted. “Also, if she is deemed not to be a threat, I would hope she is able to be released into my custody until she has completed her education.”

Now, it was Alice's eyes who darkened. “We will see, Mister Dumbledore. You may be present for when she wakes, but after is still in question. As I said, it depends on her answers. Also, now that we know her name, it depends on if we can find members of the Nightingale family still alive. If we do, she would be released into their custody.”

Giving a tight nod, Albus nodded. “Yes, that is understandable.” He brought the smile back to his face, along with his twinkle. “I shall be leaving now. You will inform me when young Abigail wakes?”

Alice nodded, giving her own smile. “Of course sir.” As she watched the old Headmaster leave, her smile disappeared. She did not like the man, but there was little she could do about him. Glancing back at the girl she now knew as Abigail, Alice decided to keep an eye on her. Whatever the woman had to say would change the way many of them thought.

 


	3. Awakening Anew

_**Through the Veil** _

_**Awakening Anew** _

Without having to open her eyes, Abigail knew she was laying in a medical bed. After so many spells had backfired on her, she knew exactly what an infirmary bed felt like on the skin. It was rough and encouraged the subconscious to heal more quickly, so the body could leave sooner. Healer Dashanov, at least, had always joked with her about that whenever she would wake up in the Hogwarts' infirmary. His sunshine showers sense of humor was always a relief after a night of sleeping off magical backlash. It was a shame he hadn't attended Hogwarts as a youth. The man was a Hufflepuff if she ever saw one.

Abigail let out a painful huff of air at the mention of the badgers, hoping that would expel her thoughts of them. Her mind refusing to cooperate with her, she was left with thoughts of her Poppy, soon followed by her Minny. Her chest grew heavy in what could only be described as longing. It had only been five years—given, five long years away from Earth, away from her loved ones—and thinking of Poppy and Minny still caused fits of pain in her chest. Loki had done his best to teach Abigail ways of subsiding this longing, of pushing the thoughts of loved ones away until they could hurt her no longer, but it had rarely had the intended effect. It was the biggest weakness she had and there was nothing she could do for it. When it came to her collection, Abigail would always find herself wishing to protect and be near them.

Hearing the beeping of monitoring spells—more thoughts of Poppy practicing them repeatedly brought a thicker heaviness to her body—the raven knew that her Healers would be alerted of her burst of consciousness by now. Even the best of occlumens had trouble hiding their body's reactions from such monitoring spells, no doubt having advanced since they had last been used on her. Letting out another huff of air, this one more out of annoyance than pain, Abigail pulled herself into a sitting position and opened her eyes in one go.

She was welcome by the sight of a white room surrounding her. There was a door on the far wall as well as a few chairs on the wall near her bed, all looking extremely uncomfortable. Otherwise, the room was empty and void of all color, excluding for various shades of gray. Abigail shrugged and leaned back onto her headboard. Someone would come in soon, whether it be a healer or Unspeakable. She had made too much of a show for that not to happen.

Alice Crooket was pleasantly surprised with the speed in which young Miss Nightingale recovered. She had gotten a call from the Healers only five days after the girl had been admitted to Bonham's ward. Looking at the healers' reports, she had suspected the girl to be out for at least a week, if not more. Her magic had been completely drain in, what she could only assume, her traveling through the Veil. Something such as that does not replenish itself in a mere five days time.

Abigail was all smiles and laughs as Alice entered the room. The girl did not even address Alice until she had finished her conversation with the healer—Jaysue, if she recalled correctly—at her side. “You're an Unspeakable, aren't you?” Were the first words from the girl's mouth.

Alice sucked in a sharp breath as those bright eyes landed on her, a brilliant jade that seemed more chemical than natural, before she was able to control her features. “I have been assigned to your case, Miss Nightingale. Do you consent to questioning?”

The raven blinked at her, head tilting as she examined Alice with critical eyes. Her jade irises only seemed to become even less natural with each passing second. After a deafening silence, she shrugged. “Suppose so, but only if I am allowed to ask questions as well. You must understand that I have quite a few.” She let out a shrill of a laugh that would have caused the Unspeakable to flinch had she not witnessed it in the Death Chamber days before. “I think I know even less than you do, my dearest.”

“Perhaps.”

That was the last word spoken until Abigail's healer left the room, but not before promising the young woman that he would be back with better food next time. “I do like him. He is easy on the eyes and has a nice sense of humor to him. Haven't quite seen much beside the surface personality as of yet, but the man reminds me of Healer Dashanov. Now that man—yum!” She licked her lips. “I would have loved to keep him.”

“Healer Dashanov?” Alice took the healer's place standing beside Abigail, politely rejecting the girl's offer to pull up a chair.

The raven twiddled with her hair, braiding strands and not making eye contact. “Yes, Healer Dashanov. The healer at Hogwarts? I ended up in his infirmary more times than one can count. It got to the point where he was on a first name basis with me.” She let out a laugh, this one warmer and much more genuine than the last.

_ It makes her seem more human, _ Alice found herself thinking before she could help it. She let out a huff of annoyance, in herself, for allowing herself to get soaked up into this girl. The memory of this interview would be going into a vial for others to witness and she needed to keep it unbais. Yet...that's exactly what Abigail wanted, wasn't it? She wanted everyone to be so soaked up in the act that is her that they wouldn't look deeper; they wouldn't take her words for their true meaning.  _ Brilliant _ .

The brunette woman cleared her throat, calling Abigail's attention back to her. “Do you remember anything before waking up in this hospital bed?”

Abigail pursed her lips and batted thick eyelashes. “Why, I remember your face, Miss...Well, not that face,” she chuckled and raised an eyebrow, allowing Alice to know that she was aware of the glamour. “I do remember those eyes of yours, though. They are rather deep and full of secrets. That's how I knew you were an Unspeakable, Miss...?”

“Miss Crooket,” she quickly supplied before moving on. “You know more than you are letting on, Miss Nightingale. My department and I would like to know how you ended up in that chamber.” Alice was careful in choosing her words. Anyone could be listening. Vagueness was key in such a situation as this.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Miss Crooket.”

To Alice's complete annoyance, the door was open at that moment. “Sir, you can't go in there!” Came Healer Jaysue's frantic voice as the door was closed on that sound, stopping any further attempts by the healer to stop their visitor.

Alice did not even attempt to stop the annoyance from showing on her face. “Albus. What are you doing here?”

The headmaster smiled, eyes twinkling in such a way that Alice knew he was attempting a surface sweep of her mind. Instead of letting him, as she had before, she upped her mental shield and forced him out. The corner of his blue eye twitched. “I requested to be her, Miss Crooket. Young Miss Nightingale was my student and, since she never graduated from Hogwarts, she is my ward, as I am headmaster.”

“Albus, I insist that you...”

“Professor Dumbledore?” Abigail's voice was several octaves higher than just moments before Albus Dumbledore forced into the room; that, alone, drew Alice's attention back to the girl. Her body was mostly relaxed, but Alice was able to pick up a hard edge in her body language that was only visible from years of training to notice such things. Noticing the attention she received, the raven forced that edge away and sent a slight smirk in Alice's direction. Abigail went back to playing with her hair and visibly shrunk into her bed. “Professor, what are you talking about? I'm Headmaster Dippet's ward during the school year. You're just my professor. And I'm confused, what happened to your auburn hair?”

It was in that moment that Alice Crooket decided this young woman was of much more interest than she originally thought. Almost instantly upon seeing Dumbledore, Abigail had taken on the persona of a frightened child rather than the curious onlooker she had been playing with Alice. What exactly could Miss Nightingale have to hide from Albus Dumbledore, of all people?

**X.x.X.x.X**

Not for a second did Abigail regret the act she put on. Even if it meant letting this Unspeakable woman—whom she had intended of being mostly herself with, since this woman would have been able to give her the answers she needed—in on the fact she was playing acts. So what? Now, this Unspeakable would question why Abigail was putting on the innocent child act in front of Dumbledore and not her. If Miss Crooket was as intelligent as her magic suggested, it wouldn't take very long for her to figure out not to trust this old fool.

No matter what the Unspeakable decided to assume, acting like a child in front of Dumbledore was _always_ the right decision. It was probably the decision that saved her life, too. Considering the last time they met was on less than friendly turns, Abigail wouldn't put it past him to try and commit homicide, _again_ , and perhaps be more success about it this time. She had “always been a bad influence”, after all. Just thinking those words caused her to cringe.

It was unfortunate that Dumbledore was _always_ suspicious of people he wished to turn into sheep—and there was no doubt that's exactly what he would want Abigail for if she proved to be unkillable, which she likely appeared to him as such for now—because he picked the questions he wanted to ask Abigail carefully. No doubt, he did not wish to alert the Unspeakable representative, and, by default, the Ministry of the plans he had for Abigail.

Not even bothering with explanations, Dumbledore pulled up one of the uncomfortable looking chairs—only after transfiguring it into something overly extravagant and out of place in such a ward—and took a place at Abigail's bedside, the opposite side of Unspeakable Crooket, of course. “Tell me the last thing you remember, Abigail.”

It was a struggle in itself not to snarl at the old goat calling her by her first name. No one should have that privilege until it was given to them. She had damn well made sure that her transfiguration teacher had learned that early on at Hogwarts.

That was it, though. Albus Dumbledore did not want the Abigail Nightingale he knew in Hogwarts. He did not want the girl who had controlled Tom's famous Hogwarts wide Court from the shadows—the Hogwarts Court that hadn't taken place in almost a century prior; the only girl who had been able to tell Tom 'no' and have him listen; the girl who had the trust of a large part of Hogwarts students, at least the ones with potential. No, Albus Dumbledore would be a complete idiot if he wanted that girl. The girl he wanted was confused and easily controlled. He wanted someone who had suffered in the Veil and would be broken, easy for him to manipulate.

Strange thing was, Abigail could give him that. She could make him believe that's what she was rather simply. The only problem she had was choosing how “damaged” to make her memory to where that she could seem “mold-able” while still ending up at Hogwarts. Smirking internally, the raven knew the exact moment in which it would be, without hesitation.

“Miss Nightingale,” Crooket's voice interrupted her thoughts and it took much of Abigail's self control not to lash out at the woman. Seeing the amusement in Crooket's eyes proved it good she had not lashed out. “If you will, Mr. Dumbledore asked what the last thing you remember is. What year was it? Month? Do you remember a specific event?”

The raven tried not to laugh. Crooket was feeding her, giving her the chance to lie. It was brilliant. She was already seeing possibility in this woman.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Abigail was ready to play victim. “W-well, it's 1936 and November...yeah, November. First year at Hogwarts. Oh, I loved Hogwarts, Miss Crooket. Everything was beautiful and covered in magic. Ah, sorry. As I was saying, we had just had the Halloween feast. I remember that. It's...potions class. (I loved potions; my mother had been quite skilled in that area.) Professor Slughorn was making us partner up differently this time, with a different house. I really didn't want to. I preferred working alone, seeing as none of my housemates were that skilled in potions. We had potions with the Gryffindors and they were never nice to me, also gave me another reason not to want to partner with them. I put up with it, though, and ended up pairing with Minerva McGonagall. She turned out to be really nice; let me call her Minny. I let her call me Abby. Later that day, Minny introduced me to her friend, Poppy, and I had a partner for my classes with Hufflepuff now!”

The story was true, mostly. Partially. It was only edited in a way that Dumbledore would think her an innocent child, but she never was one even back then. She had met Minerva in potions class, but it wasn't because Slughorn had forced them to partner with the Gryffindors; her Head of House wasn't an idiot and knew of the rivalry. Abigail had been watching Minerva McGonagall for weeks prior to that. The girl had a natural talent in Transfiguration—Abigail had overheard Slughorn talking with Dumbledore about her—but was complete rubbish in potions. Taking advantage of that, Abigail had partnered with McGonagall on a brewing day to “help boost her grade”. They partnered up for every potions class following that.

Minny was the first piece in her collection and Abigail would never forget that. The woman would always hold a special place with her.

But Dumbledore didn't need to know that. He just needed to think that Abigail had a soft spot for those bloody Gryffindors he loved so much. That's all that mattered right now and it seemed to work perfectly.

Abigail barely contained her smirk as she looked up to see Albus Dumbledore pale considerable. It was so obvious how he recalculated and changed the plans in his mind. No longer was she a “wayward child” who could be disposed of again. After all, if all the raven remember was halfway through her first year, how could she be anything like the seventeen year old he had tossed into the Veil of Death? There was possibility for Abigail to be manipulated now, he would be convinced of that, which would only work out in Abigail's favor.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, blue eyes sparkling as he leaned forward in his chair. Abigail pulled forward memories of studying with Minny and Poppy in the first few days of knowing one another, memories that would stratify him. “My dear, many things have changed since then,” his hand went on her knee and the girl couldn't stop her jaw from tightening with annoyance. “That memory you have, of an eleven year old Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey, is over half a decade old. Sixty years as of this year, I believe.”

This time, Abigail did not have to fake the shock that her body was induced to. “S-sixty years? That's impossible! No, it can not be!” She was frantic now, her thoughts a jumbled mess. No, she could not have left her Tom alone for sixty years. He had been so vulnerable the last time they spoke and could have  _ so easily _ fallen into the clutches of the dark magic they studied, as so many had before. What would become of him had his closest, probably only, confidant up and disappeared on him for over half a decade? But she couldn't mention Tom because, as a first year, she hadn't met him yet. “What happened to Mama and Papa? What does my family know about me?” Well, that was another concern, given it was second to what happened to her Tom and the rest of her collection. Her Mama would have figured it out by now, or at least had a clue not to worry. Besides, Mama worshiped Loki as her patron god and Loki would not leave his charge endlessly worried about their child. It was not like the god.

Either way, this response seemed to please Dumbledore. “I'm sure they are fine.”

“We have been unable to locate the Nightingale family as of yet,” Crooket butted in. “They are no where within England or their manor in France.”

Abigail took a breath and nodded. “Mama perhaps dragged Papa back to the United States with the lose of me. Mama grew up there, in the heart of New Orleans, in fact. Papa and her met and were married there before moving back to his family manor in France, and then to a different family home in England when muggle war broke out.” That turned out to be a good plan with how Grindelwald had risen to power so quickly. The Nightingales, at the time, were a neutral family and moving to England ensured they stayed as such. “You will kept me informed for their location once you discover it, right Miss Crooket?”

The Unspeakable smiled and nodded. “Of course. You will be informed of their location once I am.”

Nodding, the raven allowed herself to calm down. Even as a first year, she was never one to overreact, even if it meant being missing for sixty years. “What will happen to me now?” Yes, that seemed to be a good subject to settle on Abigail decided as she looked between the two on her sides.

Crooket opened her mouth but Dumbledore spoke before her. “Why, you will come to Hogwarts, of course.” His eyes sparked and that grandfatherly persona he possessed now was in full shine. “You do not remember the majority of your education, Abigail dear. While it would not be wise to have you integrate with the first year students of this age, having you receive private lessons and allowing you to study on your own in the library does seem fair. It is the least I can do as way of making up so much of your memories being lost.” He looked to Crooket now. “Perhaps being in a familiar environment will help her regain her memories of those lost sixty years. That will be helpful to your department, correct?”

Crooket looked as if she would rather hex Dumbledore than agree with him, which only made Abigail like her more, but she nodded nonetheless. “I will speak with her Healer as well as others of my department before that decision is made.”

Abigail's eyes lit to a chemical jade color as she looked to Crooket. “Oh, please put in a good word for me! Hogwarts, as short a time as I spent there, was like a home to me! I would love to go back there and start my studies anew.” There, now Crooket would at least be partially aware of Abigail's wants, if not her intentions. Hopefully, it would be enough to end her up in the Hogwarts guest rooms.

_Then, I can research and discover what happen to Tom in my lost time. Hopefully, he hasn't done anything **too** terribly idiotic while I've been gone._

 


	4. Changes to Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was Beta'd by my very kind friend, LilliySilverback. A special thanks to her.

_**Through the Veil** _

_**Changes to Come** _

Harry James Potter was _not_ amused.

It was getting toward the middle of August and nothing magical had happened yet, as it usually would by this time in the summer. In fact, normally it would be the week of his birthday that something happened and he would be whisked away to stay with the Weasley's for the month before school began. He had at least expected Ron to send him a letter asking him to come for the rest of the summer. Merlin, he would even be happy to see Fred and George outside his window in the flying Ford Anglia, no matter how much trouble the lot of them would get into with Mrs. Weasley when they got to the Burrow. At least that would mean someone cared enough to check in on him.

People had been checking up on him, kind of. Ron and Hermione had not stopped sending him letters—thankfully less vague than the prior summer's—and Fred and George continued sending him updates on their store—apparently, since he had given them the thousand galleons start up investment, he was an owner as well and, therefore, deserved to know how business was going. Plus, there was the occasional letter from Professor Lupin...Remus—the werewolf kept pointing out that he was no longer Harry's professor and asked to be called Remus. That was an obstacle in itself. Neither was willing to mention Sirius, making any conversation awkward and difficult. Harry could deal with that, though. His old professor was at least making an effort to be involved in his life.

His headmaster, though, was a completely different story. After Dumbledore ignoring him for all of his fifth year and getting his godfather killed—at first the teen wanted to blame himself for having gone into the situation half-cocked, but he found his growing distrust for the headmaster to be true cause —the raven haired teen couldn't decide how he felt about the man. Add in the fact that Dumbledore had kept the prophecy— _ Voldemort's  _ _ main reason for wanting him dead— _ from him as well as informed his relatives of Sirius' death—which had made Harry's summer  _ so much  _ better—and Harry was very angry to put it lightly.

Perhaps if Dumbledore had made an effort this summer to take him away from the Dursley's, at least for part of the hols, Harry could mostly forgive him. Instead, Dumbledore was leaving him to a summer of increased chores—Harry was now back to doing  _ every _ chore within the household—and, knowing that his “murderous” godfather was dead, Vernon had felt there was no danger in tossing all of Harry's school things into the cupboard  _ again _ . He even made countless references to Harry being placed there if it wasn't for the neighbors now being used to his freaky nephew being outside the house during summer.

At this point, Harry had decided that Dumbledore was on thin ice with him. The headmaster wanted a hero to defeat the dark lord? Fine. Whatever. Harry could do that. He refused to be completely unprepared in doing so, though, anymore. This year, he would allow Hermione to drag him to the library and learn all the defense he could—since it was obvious from previous encounters with Voldemort, the supposed greatest dark lord of all times, that Harry's “wins” were just dumb luck. If Dumbledore tried to stop him or send him back to the Dursley's next summer—Remus could take him in, right? Sirius must have left Grimmauld Place to one of them—then Dumbledore would lose his pawn.

That's all he was to Albus Dumbledore, right? A pawn. It was easy to see when Harry looked back on all his encounters with the man. Given all the mindless chores and lack of schoolwork—his books locked away with everything else—the raven teen had plenty of time to “reminisce”.

Harry was tired of being used by people, even if it  _ was _ for the greater good. What the hell was the “greater good” anyway? Was is really what was best for everyone, or just what was best for Albus Dumbledore? Was it everything light and pretty? Everyone had a different definition of the “greater good”. What Voldemort was doing, the snake man thought it was for the greater good. Maybe that greater good was twist and dark, but it was  _ his _ belief. What was greater good for the cat, was the worst thing for the mouse. Who was to say Dumbledore's version of the greater good was for Harry? No one. Exactly.

The raven teen felt a sharp kick to his side as he scrubbed Petunia's floor, followed by Dudley's pig-like, oinking laugh. Harry grunted, but said nothing, falling back into the mirror-like facade he had used all his childhood.

No. Harry James Potter was  _ not  _ amused  _ at all _ .

**_Through the Veil_  
**

Ronald Weasley laid sideways across his bed, head sticking off the long edge and legs pressed against the wall. The blood was rushing to his head, but he ignored it in favor of throwing another ball of parchment at his companion, who sat across the room from him. Hearing her annoying 'hum' was enough of a reaction to get the redhead laughing. The laughter shifted him, causing the teen to tumble off the bed.

His companion chuckled at that, marking the page of her book before setting it aside to glance at the redhead. “See why you should be _studying_ instead of bothering me Ronald? Have you done _any_ of your summer homework yet?”

Ron huffed at he righted himself, leaning against his bed and glaring at his bushy haired companion. “But 'Mione! Summer is for _fun_ ,” he whined, glaring wholeheartedly at the book she had set aside, “Not bloody bookwork. I don't get why a Gryff would always have her head in a bloody book. You're a lion not a bloody bird.”

Hermione Granger huffed, her nose high in the air as she shook her head at him. “Ron, you're going to fail if you keep that attitude. What happens to yours and Harry's plans to become aurors when that happens? The Ministry won't take you lest you have acceptable NEWTs for all the required subjects.”

Ron snorted and tossed another ball of parchment at Hermione, which she easily avoided. “You really think they won't let the boy-who-lived's best friend become an auror? Really, 'Mione, you need to study our society more. Harry's already a hero and when we help him defeat snake face we will be too! The three of us will be able to do whatever we want after Hogwarts!”

Sighing, Hermione pushed hair away from her face. “You shouldn't relay on Harry's name like that. You know Harry already tried to avoid using it as much as possible. I doubt he will allow _you_ to use it if he won't even for himself.” She frowned at her friend, wishing better for him.

Ron simply waved her off. “We'll see,” was all he offered before pulling out his _Chudley Canons_ magazine, skimming through it.

Hermione's frown only deepened as she watched. She had hoped that Ron would have grown up more by this point. They were going into their sixth year at Hogwarts, after all. Plus, seeing his OWL grades, she worried he wouldn't be very happy going back to school. Maybe he had received Acceptable in most of his classes, but he wouldn't be able to go onto NEWT level classes with that. From the looks of it, Ron would only be having four classes next year, and the Ministry wouldn't accept that if he truly wanted to become an auror.

**_Through the Veil_  
**

Draco frowned as he watched his mother. She refused to met his eyes, no matter what tactics he tried. In fact, she had refused to meet his eyes for the entirety of the summer. Not since he had “followed in his father's footsteps”, as the woman put it. He couldn't understand why. Did Narcissa not understand he had done this to protect them? Perhaps, Draco had to admit, he had been fascinated with Death Eaters at some point in his life, especially from how his father spoke of them, but not anymore. Now, taking the mark was all that would insure his mother protection, since Lucius seemed not to care about his wife any longer.

“Mother, stop avoiding my eyes. I...I miss having you at my side,” he confessed. In any situation with Narcissa Malfoy, honest was always the best.

Finally, the woman looked up, her icy gaze piercing through him, causing Draco to finch before he could help it. “I do not approve of your actions, Draco. I will not stand beside you when you are torturing yourself.” The use of his name, instead of her favored pet name 'Dragon', caused him to flinch again.

Despite himself, Draco allowed his temper to flare instead of showing anymore pain. “How can you not approve of my actions? This is the path father and you have carved for me since the beginning. I am finally living up to your expectations. How can you not be proud of me mother?” _How can you not understand this is the only choice? That someone is always listening and I can never speak that aloud?_

The coldness never left Narcissa's face. Instead, she muttered a spell and ran her wand along the deep cut in her son's cheek. Then, she pressed a vial into his hand. “Drink it all,” she muttered, having dealt with her husband being put under the cruciatus curse countless times before. Without another word, Narcissa stood, intent on leaving.

Draco grabbed her wrist, squeezing it until his mother met his eyes. “Mother.” His voice was stern and so similar to Lucius' that they both cringed. Swallowing, he tried again, “Mother.” He sighed internally, Lucius' tone gone.

Wrenching her hand from Draco's grip, Narcissa continued. “I will never be proud of you choosing to become a slave. Your father may have wished you to follow in those footsteps, but I always gave you another option, Dragon. Severus always gave you another option. This choice...I refuse to be proud of.” Not sparing him another look, she left her son's room.

It was a few minutes before Draco reacted again. The blond grabbed the closest item, a flower vase, and tossed it at the closed door. It shattered and left a mess for the house-elves to later clean up. It did nothing for his anger and he collapsed on his bed, only after kicking every piece of furniture in his way. If his own mother could not understand how he had done this to protect her, then who could?

That was when the young Malfoy heir realized he was truly alone in this world.

**_Through the Veil_  
**

Lord Voldemort was not a patient man. His followers, or a majority of them, knew that and did their best to stay out of his way. It was that minority who had not yet discovered his temper that brought him the most joy. They so easily stepped out of line and he could punish them, laughing at their pain the entire time.

The young Malfoy was one who seemed to not have discovered it yet. He was a quick learner, though, Voldemort knew, and would not step out of line again. Being under the Crucio once was enough to break the boy's will. The child was weak, much like the father, but his Occlumency shields were strong, no doubt thanks to the boy's godfather and aunt. That made torturing the child all the more entertaining.

“Severus, stay.” With those words, the cloaked figures were quick to flood from their lord's cold presence. His followers knew a dismissal when one was said and none were eager to stay behind, lest risking their own health.

The room clear of all but one cloaked figure. Voldemort made his way to the adjoining room, motioning for Severus to follow. He took his chair by the fireplace, Nagini instantly curling around his feet. Severus knelt a few feet from him. “Tell me, what do you think of my plans for young Draco?”

His potions master raised his head, taking that as permission to stand. “It is clever as always, my lord.” His words were measured, as they always tended to be, and Voldemort thought nothing of it. “Having a student as a follower within Hogwarts is exactly what we needed. The fool Dumbledore will never see it coming. And on the off chance he does, he would never harm one of his _precious_ students, my lord.”

The dark lord nodded. He tilted his head, meeting Severus' eyes. “But you see faults within it, yes?”

Severus hesitating, pursing his lips. He finally said, “There are faults in every plan.”

“I see. Tell me what you believe may be corrected.”

“He is a _child_ , my lord. Yes, he is Lucius Malfoy's son, but I know Draco better than Lucius. He is...I do not believe he can kill, my lord,” the dark haired man spoke honestly. Draco was his godson and if he could get the boy out of such a task, then he would.

Voldemort nodded. He motioned to the twin chair beside the fire. Only when Severus had sat did he speak again. “Yes, I have taken that into account. That is where you come in, my potions master.” He grinned at Severus, showing a bit too much teeth, his red eyes twinkling darkly. “When Draco fails, complete the task for him. He will be punished accordingly. Depending on how Lucius and Narcissa react will decide _**many**_ things.” Those two were variables he did _not_ want to deal with. Narcissa had always sided with young Draco before her husband, Voldemort had seen that through Lucius' thoughts, and Lucius did care about his son, to some minute degree. It would greatly depend on how they reacted to the thought of Voldemort killing Draco that would determine the Malfoy family's fate. Draco was valuable. He would be an acquitted potions master should something happen to Severus and he _was_ the Malfoy heir, giving him all the same political power Lucius possessed. Narcissa and Lucius...were replaceable.

Severus's blood ran cold as the oxygen left his lungs. His lord _expected_ Draco to fail. He planned to kill the boy, _his_ _ **godson**_ , because he would fail at this task. Again, his lord was giving Severus an ultimatum. His lord or his godson? As with Lily so many years before, the dark haired man knew who he would chose. Draco was all he had left and he would _not_ allow _his little Draco_ to **die** because his 'lord' sent him on some fruitless task.

Severus knew better than to speak such thoughts, though. “Yes, my lord.” He forcibly ignored the urge to swallow thickly. “I find I must ask a favor, then, my lord. You know...I do not ask for such often.” He paused, squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine. “Spare Draco when he fails. He has potential. Perhaps not as a spy, but as a political power and second potions master. He will be an excellent addition to your ranks upon graduating Hogwarts, perhaps even before.”

A slow twisted grin stretched across Voldemort's features and he released a humorless laugh. “My dear Severus, I will not kill the boy. You are correct in regards to his potential. This makes him valuable to me. I will keep him alive, for now. Lucius and his wench would cause too much of a commotion if that were to occur.” The laughter died as red eyes narrowed. “You will not speak of this. Lucius nor Narcissa are not to know of my true plans for the boy. Allow them to think otherwise.”

The dark man bowed his head. “Yes...my lord.”

Voldemort's fingers pressed together in a pyramid pattern, burning orbs gazing heatedly the fire. Severus was easily his most trusted follower. The man was his spy and brewed whatever he wished. He listened and, fearlessly, pointed out the flaws in his plans, despite knowing this could flare his master's temper and cause harm to himself. That was, perhaps, why Voldemort valued him so. Severus Snape reminded him of a Slytherin he knew long ago. A girl who had been 'friends' with him _before_.

“Things are changing Severus.” His tone was low and the potions master had to strain to hear. “The magical world will be hit with something...unexpected. What that is, I do not know. We must prepare, for many things _will_ change.”

 


	5. Jaded Amber

_**Through the Veil** _

_**Jaded Amber** _

Minerva McGonagall frowned as she sat in the staff room. Normally, Albus would wait up until two days before the school year began to call a meeting. There was no reason for them to have a meeting prior to that for the professors only returned to Hogwarts the last two weeks of August. Furthermore, the meeting was nothing but a formality. Albus conversed with each professor individually in order to discus lesson plans.

"Shall we begin?" Severus drawled out, the first to break the silence. "Some of us have  _important_ matters to attend."

Albus smiled, nodding absently. "Very well. Let us begin." He rested his teacup on its saucier, shoulders straightening. "I have called this meeting to inform everyone of the castle's newest occupant."

"Couldn't that have been done at the  _normal_  meeting?" Aurora Sinistra asked from her place at Severus's side. "We have had a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor  _every_  year since  _before_ Ibegan working here. You have not wished to schedule a meeting early to introduce him previously. Why  _now_?"

Albus's smile settled on her, eyes twinkling in a way which caused Sinistra to huff. "This is not about the Defense professor. I have, in fact, not filled that post as of yet. I am sure you can understand why." This caused Sinistra to shrug and sink back into her seat, jaw set. "This, in fact, is about a ward of the Hogwarts who has,  _graciously_ , decided to make a reappearance."

Minerva chest tighten.  _Reappearance? It couldn't be..._

"She never completed her schooling at Hogwarts before her disappearance and, as such, the castle still considers her a student. With that in mind, I have taken her under my wing and offered her a safe haven within our school until her family may be contacted."

Minerva held her breath. It was Filius Flitwick who voiced her unspoken question. "Albus, you are not making sense. If you speak of the girl whom I believe, then I do not see how the castle would still consider her a student. She would be well into her seventies."

The headmaster's twinkling eyes leveled with each pair surrounding him before setting on Flitwick. "I am getting to that, Filius. Now, this is before many of you became professors, but I am speaking of the  _curious_  case of the young Abigail Nightingale. For those of you not aware, Miss Nightingale attended Hogwarts in the late thirties and early forties. During her seventh year, she disappeared while on leave to visit a dying relative. Her family claimed, later on, the relative did not exist. Abigail has been under the status of 'missing' ever since. Miss Nightingale is the only student to ever go missing while attending Hogwarts."  _Not under my watch_ , went unsaid.

No longer able to keep silent, Minerva blurted out, "Is Abigail alright?" Her heart raced and, as she met Poppy's eyes, she knew her friend was experiencing the same overwhelming emotions. It had been over fifty years since either she or the Healer had seen their friend Abigail and neither believed the story Albus had given their Headmaster and fellow classmates, that Abigail sounded suicidal. Abigail Nightingale was a proud witch and likely to be homicidal before suicidal.

Chuckling, Albus nodded. "Yes. She is well. While I can not reveal much, for it is still under investigation by the Ministry, I can state that she has been through something rather strange. Her memory has been damaged and she thinks herself but a first year. Her magic reflects as much. No matter the trouble she wondered into all those years ago, she is still registered as a Hogwarts's student. Until her family can be found and informed, I have offered her residence within Hogwarts' walls. She will be attending classes as the professors allow and roaming the halls." He paused, seeing scowls as the information processed. "Remember, she has the mind of an eleven year old. Miss Nightingale is processing that it is 1996, instead of her 1936. Be gentle with her. Allow her to ask questions and answer to the best of your abilities. Thank you. You may go."

Albus was not surprised when it was Minerva and Poppy wondering following his dismissal. With how the charms master waited before eventually leaving, it seemed as if Filius would also stay, if only to inquire the state of his former student, but a leveled stare from Albus prompted him to leave. The headmaster made a note to speak with the man at a later date, if only to keep Filius from mentioning some of the...darker magics that Abigail had pursued during her years at Hogwarts. Her traveling down  _that_  path could not happen again. That may give Tom another weapon against him, which could  _not_ be allowed.

"We want the  _truth_  Albus." It was Poppy who spoke, to his surprise. Albus would have thought Minerva would have found that  _Gryffindor courage_  she so prided herself in before Poppy, the badger she was, asserted herself. "Tell us about Abby. Why...what happened? Where is she  _now_?"

Those blue eyes sparkled in a way that made Poppy's stomach drop. All of Abigail's warnings about avoiding their transfiguration teacher's eyes suddenly came back to her. She looked away. That twinkling meant something, but whatever it was slipped her mind. It had slipped her mind far too long. "Young Abigail is sitting in my office. I have left her with the collection of first year books to entertain herself. Come." With a simple nod, the women followed. Yes, it would be easy to string them into this story. "It seems she was found by Unspeakables within the Department of Mysteries. I was called because they sensed my magic with her. It appears I was the last magical being to speak with her before...whatever it was that happened."

Minerva's blood ran cold. Her friend had never trusted Dumbledore as their professor, though Abigail  _refused_  to explained why. For Albus to be the last person to speak with her...that sent her heart into an irregular beat.

"As I said, she does not remember anything following 1936, Christmas. Therefore, she does not know what may have happened to her. The Unspeakables have theories,  _but_  they will not disclose the details to me. Cockroach clusters," Albus called to the gargoyle. The stone creature nodded, and allowed the three to pass. "That said, I will rely heavily on you both to assist in her recovery. She was found in the Death Chamber. It is presumed she came out of the Veil of Death, seeing as there was no trace of her elsewhere." Pausing, the man turned as they came to his office door, meeting the eyes of both women. "You must understand. She remembers both of you as young girls, as eleven years old. Abigail  _does_  process that sixty odd years have passed, but to  _see_  that her friends have aged so many years more than her may have a shocking affect."

Poppy let out a titter of a laugh and smiled. "You would be surprised. Abby is a Slytherin, through and through. She knows how to hide emotions. Even as a fledgling, she was a proud snake."

Minerva chuckled and nodded. "That is very true. I think you will be surprised with Abigail, Albus. Perhaps our reunion will do her good." She let out a longing sigh. "Merlin only knows what meeting Tom again would do for her."

"Do not speak of him," Albus said sharply. The twinkle in his eyes was gone, along with his grandfatherly appearance. "She does not remember Tom and there is no need to bring up him, nor  _what_  he became. Imagine what would happen if Abigail saw the  _monster_  her friend had become?" The warning given, he stormed into his office. No. Albus could not have Abigail learning that Tom Riddle had become Voldemort. The girl had taken  _that_  devil child under her wing within his first few months of Hogwarts and look where it had lead them? Tom became Voldemort and Albus blamed Abigail for that. If she had not influenced him to explore  _all_  areas of magic...perhaps today would be different.

But Tom had been smitten with her as well, hadn't he? He wouldn't have taken the advice of just anyone. If Voldemort had any Tom left in him, he would easily recognized the name Abigail Nightingale; it having played such a large part of his teenage years. What would Tom do to get a hold of his old, dare he say, mentor again? It would certainly, at least, cause Voldemort to become reckless.

A grin spread across Albus' face as he watched the raven haired girl flipping through a text while lounging in his wing back chair. Perhaps, in do time, the little Nightingale would be useful as bait, as well as his warrior...only time would tell.

_**Through the Veil** _

Gringotts went more smoothly than Abigail had expected. It helped that the goblins had always valued her family and understood when secrets needed to be kept. For that reason, Abigail was pulled away from Minerva—whom Dumbledore had assigned to be her 'guard cat' for the day—and into the back offices to see the Nightingale account manager.

Gorurk was thrilled to see the Nightingale heir after such a long absence. The goblin was even more thrilled to learn what her absence had been caused by as well as where she had been. While goblins did not worship gods, they certainly did respect them. Apparently, Loki had graced the goblins with gifts crafted by his special brand of magic. As Gorurk said, "Any apprentice of sir Loki, the Nation is willing to assist."

Abigail was able to learn the whereabouts of her parents. After many years of waiting for their daughter's return, Lord and Lady Nightingale had decided traveling was the best way of pushing away their worries. The raven could not be happier with this outcome. Her mother always spoke of wishing to visit distant wizarding societies and learning new magics. Now, her wishes were coming true. This also offered explanation of why the Unspeakables were unable to contact the elder Nightingales. The jungles of South America were always difficult to sent an owl into.

Once her trust vault, and family vaults seeing as she was now of age, were open to her, Abigail made requests of not allowing anyone but those of Nightingale blood access to the vaults. She could  _not_  allow Albus Dumbledore touching her family's hidden heirlooms, even if the bulk of  _those_  heirlooms were in their original Gringotts' vault in France. Also, she requested any information they could give her on the history of Tom Marvolo Riddle, not given the goblins' privacy clause, and information on the name Voldemort, which was much more than she could have hoped. The price was bartered until both parties were satisfied.

Papers shrunken and in her pocket, the raven withheld her smirk. That would have thrown off Minerva. No matter how clueless the witch had become, she had known Abigail for seven years and should know when the raven was plotting. It was rather depressing, actually, to see how far her first collection piece had fallen. Minny was so blinded by Dumbledore's "light" that she could not see passed Abigail's facade. The girl had been so clever in her youth.

"Abigail, are you sure that you do not wish me to stay with you?" Minerva asked hesitantly. She looked toward Ollivander's wand shop. Perhaps Abigail  _did_ remember Diagon Alley, but that was from the view point of a child. " Albus said..."

"Minny!" The raven giggled childishly, swaying back and forth on her feet. In a way, it was good Minerva came with her. Minerva was blinded. She only saw what she wanted of Abigail and was easily fooled by this childish persona that had  _never_  been Abigail. Poppy wouldn't have been fooled. Poppy Pomfrey only saw what was there and could not be blinded by sleek lies. It was the true mark of a healer and that made the raven beyond proud. "I've been to Ollivander's before! He's not going to hurt me. 'Sides, I can show you my new wand after I get it. Wish I knew what happen to the first one." She had loved her first wand. The dragon heartstring Center had molded to her personality and skill set rather easily.

It took a minute of staring into those wide, child-like jade eyes before Minerva relented. "Fine...but I expect to meet you in Flourish and Blotts within the hour." She sighed, watching her old friend. Abigail was  _still_  the girl she once knew, stubborn and cunning as ever. "I'll by the rest of your school supplies during that time and leave you to pick your books and wand. Yes?"

Biting her cheek to subside the urge to roll her eyes, Abigail nodded. "Of course Minny!" With those kind words, she ran into the shop, leaving Minerva shaking her head at the girl.

Once safely within the shop's walls, the raven dropped her cheerful facade. She was most  _definitely_  disappointed with Minerva. The woman should  _know_  that her friend wasn't like this! Even as an eleven year old, Abigail Nightingale had been a calculating, manipulative snake. Poppy had seen through that and chided the raven when she went too far. Minerva...Minerva never had seen that, had she? No. Minerva had seen the nice Slytherin offering to help her in potions and giving others a place to belong. Minerva had not seen the manipulative way she picked her options and how she only allowed those with great potential within their group. It was depressing to admit it, but the truth nonetheless.

"Young Miss Nightingale! I suspected I would be seeing you again."

Ollivander's voice sent an unusual way of calm through Abigail. A small, pleasant smile curved at her lips as she spotted the small man bounding toward her. "Yes. I remember. When I first came here, you said I was to be expected again."

The small wizard offered that all knowing smile he often wore. "Yes, and you did not believe me. You said that would be your only wand. Nine and a half inch sycamore with a dragon heartstring. The wand for a curious adventurer that would not conform to the mundane. Am I right to assume you are here not because your wand has combust on you?"

Abigail laughed wholeheartedly. "You are correct, per usual, Ollivander. I, unfortunately, am unaware of what happen to my beloved wand. It was taken from me,  _unfairly_ , during a battle." Her tussle with Dumbledore was too one-side to be called a duel. "I miss it dearly. As you told me before, that wand chose me for a reason, and it was painful to be without my faithful friend."

Ollivander nodded. "Yes. The wand chooses the wizard," he chuckled quietly, then tilted his head at the woman. "That, though, is no longer the wand for you. You have grown and learned quiet a bit. While you are quiet curious, the large part of your adventures are now in the past, yes? Sycamore wand would put you at odds."

"I am still a great adventurer," Abigail poked her lips out in annoyance. Maybe her  _greatest_  adventures lie during her times with Tom and Loki, but that does not mean those to come would not, still be, great. She sighed. " _You_  are the expert wandmarker, not  _I_. Tell me what my magic requires now that I have grown."

"My pleasure." With that, the wizard bound around the shop. Just as he picked up a wand "Ten inch walnut with unicorn tail hair" he frowned and put it away, not even letting the stick touch Abigail's hand. "No, no. Definitely not. Your magic has altered  _too_  much. Your goals have changed." His silver eyes lit up in a way Abigail had never seen before. "Come. I think you will fit well in with an old collection of wands I made." Spinning on his heels, he disappeared into the back of his shop, leaving the raven to follow.

Abigail was delighted. It was rare that Ollivander allowed anyone into the back here. When he did, it was only for the most difficult cases of wand picking. As she expected, the back of the shop was just as crowded with wand cases as the front. Though, differing from the front, this part of the shop had cases spilling over with different woods and cabinets marked with Centers names. There were experimental wands on every surface. Ollivander stopped in front of a collection of what looked to contain only ten wands.

He turned, smile in place, and faced Abigail. "In my early days, I was rather bold. I experimented with different wand woods, different Centers. Eventually, I decided the best centers and had a great variety of woods that would turn into excellent wands. That wasn't enough for me at such an age. I poured myself into ideas that my father called 'insane', but his words didn't stop me. That is how  _this_  collection came to be." Ollivander flicked his wand and the cases opened. "Instead of the traditional wood, these wands were crafted with stone."

The raven's eyes lit up as she looked over them. Curiosity leaked from her as she hesitated in taking hold of a wand. Only after receiving a nod from the wizard did Abigail latch onto it. Her magic hummed in a way that it had refused to do since Asgard. "Wow." A rainbow of sparks and snowflakes shot from the end of the stone.

"I thought so," Ollivander hummed in triumph. "Eleven and three quarter inch amber stone, with jade runes carved down one side, and an ocean phoenix feather Center. The runes carved on it will insure that it cannot be broken by regular means."

Abigail was only half listening as she examined her new wand. It was, in her opinion, gorgeous. The amber was translucent enough to see the twisting, blue phoenix feather within it and the jade runes only served as compliment to the feather. "I love it...but there is something more?" She looked toward the wandmarker, eyebrows raised.

Ollivander could only laugh. "Always an observant girl. Yes. These wands requested more of me than only a single form. Tap the base against any solid surface." Cautiously, curiously, Abigail did as asked. In a flash of blurred magic, the wand grew and stretched until it took the form of a staff. The jade runes had multiplied and now covered the entire base. At the top, the amber curved in wave patterns to hold the phoenix feather, which seemed to glow as Abigail's magic flowed into it. "Yes, your magic  _requires_  this form. You have been practicing with a staff, instead of a wand, for many years now?"

"Always a sly one, you are Ollivander. Yes. In the absence of my wand, my master gave me a magical staff to practice with. Though, that was only until I mostly mastered wandless, and staffless, magic...to an extent." Abigail was reluctant to add that, waving off the little detail. She tapped the base of her staff to the ground, watching as it shrank back to wand size. "I do love this. Staffs are much more useful for frost magic, and most Asgardian magic, than wands. I wouldn't want to hurt my wand by practicing what Master had taught me." Taking her eyes from the gorgeous amber, she finally focused on the wizard. "Thank you...I  _sincerely_  hope I do  _not_  have to come here on business again."

Those silver eyes lit up in the same way as before, a look Abigail was beginning to treasure. "As do I, Miss Nightingale. As do I."

_**Through the Veil** _

It was a week before the Hogwarts's term was to begin when Albus realized Horace Slughorn had not yet contacted him. He had sent owls to his former colleague since summer's start and had even payed Horace a visit toward the beginning of July. While Horace had promised to think on the offer of returning to his old teaching post, that wasn't good enough. Albus  _needed_  another Potions professor if he was to give Severus the Defense position. Not just  _any_  Potions professor, though. He needed Horace Slughorn to take up his old post. It was vital that Horace be within the safety of Hogwarts and beyond Tom's reach. Tom already had Severus as a Potions Master, he could  _not_  sink his claws into Slughorn as well.

Having Abigail within Hogwarts's walls only microscopically lessened the stress he was under. Yes, the Slytherin was under his watch. Yes, he had Minerva watching the girl, along with all the portraits, but that didn't seem enough. Dippet had portraits watching Tom, yet the boy still managed to find the Chamber of Secrets and practice dark arts within Hogwarts. The only blessing was that Abigail was dumb to sixty years of history. She did not know of Tom Riddle  _or_  of the war with Voldemort. That could make her an asset to the Light cause. She was always a smart girl, a strategist. If Abigail and Miss Granger were to become friends, Abigail could form Hermione, with little effort since Hermione was already headed that direction, into the strategist Harry would need.

This renewed Albus's hope and prompted him to search for Slughorn again. The man wasn't difficult to find, residing in a Muggle house as he had been for the past year. Horace was, however, reluctant in allowing Albus into his home. A swept of the man's surface thoughts showed that Horace was worried of how this visit would end, since he was intent on rejecting his old teaching post. They couldn't very well have  _that_.

"Evening Horace." With a flick of his wand, tea was being made. "Have you thought on my offer?"

Horace let out a heavy sigh as he settled into a floral armchair. "I do not wish to go back, Albus. I want to stay out of this war."

Albus took to wondering the room rather than sitting in the equally floral chair across from his old friend. "What a better place to be safe from war than Hogwarts? You, better than anyone, should know that I will not allow such conflict within its' walls. Children are not soldiers." Oh, what a contradiction he was.

"At times, it seems you forget the meaning of that statement," this was said into Horace's teacup. "I will not be coming back...and don't bring up Harry Potter again. While it would be absolutely brilliant to teach the boy," that could not be denied. Harry Potter would be a great addition to his collection, "I am not... _needed_. Severus had been, and will continue, doing a magnificent job. I should know, considering I taught the boy myself." That, hopefully, would be enough to allow him to meet Mr. Potter.

The elder wizard nodded. "I understand. It saddens me you are given up the opportunity to brighten today's youth." The hardened glare Horace sent his way showed Albus this was not what the man wished to hear. Sighing, Albus found himself before Slughorn's memory shelf, adorned with members of his Slug Club. His favorites, as always, were displayed in front.

Toward the center was a framed photograph Albus had not seen before. Its gold frame was clear of dust, so unlike the ones surrounding it. The photograph showed Slug Club members from 1943. Toward the right edge of the picture was a young, seventeen year old Abigail Nightingale, her eyes glowing unnaturally even in the black and white picture. Her arm was around a fifteen year old Tom Riddle and she leaned against a smiling seventeen year old Poppy Pomfrey. It was the only photograph that Slughorn kept of Tom Riddle.

But, from experience, Albus knew not the bring up the Dark Lord in Horace's presence. It only lead to being asked to leave. Therefore, he attempted a different angle.

"I hadn't known you kept a picture of Miss Nightingale." He lift the frame from its place among the others. "Madam Pince has been attempting to obtain a photograph of her for years. You remember how fond Pince was of young Abigail, yes? You must allow me to have a copy of this."

Horace moved from his chair. Carefully, as if handling a wounded animal, the Potions Master took the photo. A gentle smile curved to his face. "Abigail...she was going places. Perhaps not in the field of Potions, she wasn't my best student but was well above average and knew how to inspire others, but she was going places higher than I expect any of my pupils had before. That girl had a gift for getting things her way. I was proud to have her in my House." He let out a choked laugh. "My, I remember how she would befriend everyone, even those  _outside_  her house. Her lot turned out to be the best of the school, having the best grades in one subject or another. She was going to change things with her little friends."

It took much of his willpower to keep the grin from Albus's face. "She'ss at Hogwarts's now," he offered. Horace's wide eyes met his. "Unspeakables found her and I petitioned for her to stay within Hogwarts until her family could be contacted. Abigail deserved to finish her education, I thought. Don't you agree?" He shook his head. "Poor dear. She doesn't remember anything past her first year at Hogwarts. She will need to relearn it all. Pity, isn't it?"

"Yes...Pity."

"Well, I'll be off then. I can see I will not be able to change your mind." Albus turned for the door.

He was almost out the door when Horace grabbed his arm. "I wouldn't say that! I will be at Hogwarts in a week, by noon on September first, to sign the papers for the teaching post...and I don't want my old office in the dungeons! I want the good one on the third floor!"

Albus brought a smile to his face. "Excellent! I will see you then."

Horace wasn't looking at him anymore. His eyes were glued to the picture of Abigail, watching her laugh and smile. Albus smiled as well. The girl had caused him much trouble but she was also fixing a problem.

Blinking, Albus moved closer. Tom was... _smiling_. A  _true_  smile. It was the only time he had ever seen such a smile grace the man's face. And...his  _eyes_. There was a look of adoration in Tom's eyes as he stared at Abigail that Albus had also never seen before.

That was the moment Albus truly how smitten Tom had been with Nightingale. Even if Tom had split his soul apart, part of him still resided within this Voldemort's form. Part of him  _must_  remember his mentor, the one who had encouraged him to study that dark path. Why Nightingale would encourage that, Albus couldn't fathom. (He had tried asking in the Death Chamber some fifty years ago, but never received a satisfying answer. Abigail  _had_  said all branches of magic deserved to be studied, no matter if the wizard was dark, light, or gray, but that  _couldn't_ be it.) No matter. She would be a light witch this time around and, with his guidance, be happy to extinguish the darkness of Voldemort from this world. With his teachings, even if she somehow remembers who Tom was to her, she would  _still_  wish to pillage him from darkness.


	6. New Year, New Rules

_**Through the Veil** _

**_New Year, New Rules_ **

September first came and Harry was simmering in his own annoyance. His OWL scores had  _not_  come, nor had anymore letters from Ron or Hermione. He thought it might have been an accident at first—Hogwarts often did when it came to his name—so he had owled Fred and George, since Hermione and Ron ignored his letters, and asked if his scores had been sent to the Burrow. They promised to check, but it would take a while because they no longer stayed at the Burrow. It was refreshing to hear their worry when the twins inquired why he  _wasn't_  already at their old home.  _Hermione's there, been for a while now_ , they said.

Needless to say, Harry's summer had only gotten  _better_  since having to owl order his school supplies because the Order 'didn't want him to go to Diagon Alley alone'.  _Then why couldn't they bloody take me?!_

"All those freaks forgot about you, didn't they?" Harry had been ignoring Veron's mumblings the entire ride, and the muggle man knew it but that didn't stop him speaking his  _unwanted_  opinion. "They'd have picked you up and brought you here themselves if they cared for you. But they  _didn't_. It's like Petunia and I have been telling you for your entire life.  _No one can care for a freak like you_."

Harry hissed, not even in Parseltongue, and smirked as he watched the whale of a man jump in his seat. He had discovered, in the last week of August unfortunately, that the Dursleys were afraid of snakes. They had been since the incident with the boa on Dudley's eleventh birthday. It was enlightening and, upon them finding snakes flocking to Harry in the yard one day—all the snakes  _were_  nonvenomous, but they didn't need to know that—and hearing him  _speak_  to the little reptiles, his 'family' let him be. Speaking Parseltongue had always seemed like a curse, but now the raven considered it a blessing. Not only had his trunk been allowed in his room, enabling him to finish his homework, but Petunia no longer scold him for making himself food. All he had to do was glare and hiss for her to shut up.  _If only_  this phobia had been discovered years earlier.

"Out. I've brought you here."

Harry slipped from the car. He grinned upon seeing Vernon shuffling to get Harry's trunk, the large man's eyes always shifting back to his nephew. Yes, the raven teen should have considered frightening them much earlier. "I'll avoid coming back next summer if possible," he offered. "If I  _have to_ , well, you lot know to leave me to myself."

Grumbling still, Vernon gave a sharp nod before scrambling into his car. Harry swore he had never seen the man drive so fast before in his life. If this little experiment told him anything, he could guess this would be an excellent year.

_**Through the Veil** _

Harry didn't looked for Ron or Hermione when he got through Platform 9 ¾. Not only was it too early for the Weasleys to make an appearance, but his 'friends' were Prefects and would be at the annual Prefect meeting. Not having gotten over his anger at them for ignoring him  _all summer_  did give Harry good reason not to actively seek out the pair's company, as well.

Running into Luna Lovegood was a coincidence, but a good thing nonetheless. The airy girl made it a habit to put a smile on his face and he was more than happy to share a compartment with the younger 'Claw. Neville wondering in a few minutes later was just as well; the boy was a great conversationalist.

"I got a new wand, like you said I should, Harry," was the first thing out of Neville's mouth once the three had settled. The train had begun its journey, but Ginny had yet to find them. Or didn't  _want_  to find them. Either way, he didn't care. The girl, like her brother, hadn't responded to his pleading letter. "Thirteen inch cherry wood with unicorn center. Ollivander said he had been waiting for me to make an appearance for a while."

Smiling, Harry took the offered wand. It was medium brown, getting darker closer to the base, which twisted around to form a handle of sorts. "Nice," he grinned before handing it back. "Ollivander is a bit strange like that, isn't he? When I got my wand, he kept going on about how its brother gave me my scar." The teen rolled his eyes. "Not like that means anything. So what if we have similar wands? What really matters is how we use them."

Neville looked at Harry in awe and even Luna smiled toward him. "That sounds completely wonderful Harry."

Blushing softly, the teen glanced away at the praise. It was strange, receiving praise for something like this. It was often Hermione who received praise for her words. Even last year, when giving speeches to the DA, people spoke of how it was Hermione who decided what he was say. That had infuriated him. Did everyone honestly think he was  _that_  dense?

"Thanks. Hearing you say that means a lot." Harry managed a smile for them. This attention...it wasn't like with everyone else. They weren't amazed because he was 'the Boy-Who-Live' or because of some outrage thing he had done at Hogwarts. They were just...being his friends? "How was your summers?"

Neville, blushing and fumbling, went into an explanation of how his Gran had called everyone over upon discovering his OWL grades—"I passed everything, even Potions". Harry listened politely, nodding at all the right moments. He was impressed, especially when Neville talked about hexing his Uncle Algie 'on accident', the same Uncle who continuously put Neville's life in danger as a child in hopes of causing accident magic if Harry remembered correctly.

Luna, all the while, never looked away from Harry. She didn't glance down to read her newest edition of the  _Quibbler_ , which was about the expedition to Sweden her father and she had taken to find Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. Eventually, the brunet teen grew tired of it and asked directly. "What is it Luna?"

The blonde smiled at him and readjusted the wand behind her ear. "I was just thinking. The Nargles are all gone from you. I've been trying to make them go away since last year," she explained this with so much happiness that it caused both boys to smile with her. "I was also thinking of what the Wacksorts told me this summer."

Neville, eyes full of nothing but kindness, was the one to ask, "What did the Wacksorts tell you?"

Luna smiled at her friend before focusing those large silver eyes on Harry. He noticed that they were surprisingly less hazy than usual. "Some things in this world have changed. A new variable has entered the war that will affect everything we know." Leaning forward, she took one of Harry's hands. "Neville and I are going to be by your side, no matter what Harry."

The raven teen blinked and frowned. "Luna...what do you mean?"

She squeezed his hand before sitting back and turning to Neville. "The Geackspourts got to your hair, Neville. While it isn't as infested as Harry's, I suggest taking care of the infestation soon." Luna reached up and ran a hand through the blond's hair.

Neville and Harry's eyes met. Neville shrugged before promising Luna that he would take care of the infestation. Harry frowned and glanced to the window. His blonde friend may be odd and delusional, at times, but he had learned to take her words at face value. If she said someone had entered the war that would change everything, then he was inclined to believe it.

_**Through the Veil** _

Noon trickled slowly away. Horace Slughorn had yet to appear, either through floo or apparating to the gates. Albus had not been worried when twelve turned to one, nor when one morphed into two. Slughorn had a flare for dramatics—that had to be remembered. It wouldn't be a far stretch for Slughorn to hope being one or two hours late would put Albus on edge, getting him a better teaching contract—Horace had not been a Slytherin for nothing. It was three hours late, though, and that had Albus worried. Slughorn wouldn't give up this chance, not to reteach Nightingale  _and_  Potter. Not to mention the obvious protection from Voldemort. (Albus rolled his eyes at the name. Tom could have been just a  _bit_  more creative.)

Albus paused his pacing, watching his floo connection intently. The day was stressful already and Slughorn  _wasn't helping_. Not only would students be arriving in hours, but Severus had been called off  _again_. Of all days Tom could call his Potions Master! Obviously Tom was doing this to make Albus' life more complicated. Tom couldn't  _value_  Severus. Of course, the man was a decent Potions Master, but Tom was a 'dark lord' now and could easily get another. Yes. This was a ploy to throw Albus off. It  _had_  to be.

_Where was Horace?!_

The floo flared. Albus jumped, grin breaking across his face.  _Finally!_  He muttered an entrance, allowing Slughorn through. The man would have  _much_  explaining to do. Doing Albus a favor or not, Horace had no reason to be three hours late!

"Old friend, you can not do this to me. I've been expecting you for hours."

It was not ol' Horace Slughorn who shook the ash from their clothing. A tall, slim woman clocked in green robes stood before him, looking as frightening as ever as she patted away clinging floo ash. Her eagle like eyes, that Albus was unfortunately familiar with, locked on him. "Mr. Dumbledore," she greeted, her voice kind and professional despite the sinister gleam in her dark eyes.

Albus cleared his throat. "Ah, it is  _Headmaster_ , Miss Fairfield."

Madge Fairfield only smiled at him. "Yes,  _of course_ , Albus. As you say." She waved her hand and looked back, bring Albus' attention to the second witch exiting from the floo.

Seeing Alice Crooket standing before him, coughing on ash, caught him by surprise.

"Lovely to see you are acquainted. This makes our meeting easier," Fairfield went on. "As you know, it is my job, as head of the Department of Magical Education, to ensure our young witches and wizards get the best possible education. It has come to my attention that your Defense Against the Dark Arts class as no professor—"

"I am waiting for Horace Slughorn to floo in, actually. He will be taking the Potions position while Severus Snape is being promoted to Defense professor." Albus motioned to his desk. "The paperwork is prepared. All it requires are the signatures."

"-And," Fairfield went on as if Albus had not spoken, "we can not have that. Seeing as I am  _head_  of the DoME and how vital Defense Against the Dark Arts is in war time, I saw to fix it. In the process, I discovered Minister Fudge's law from the year previous had not been lifted." Albus' jaw tightened and Fairfield could only grin. "Yes. If Hogwarts has not filled a teaching position, the Ministry is liable to fill said position."

Albus took a breath before  _'calmly'_  replying, "The position  _will_  be filled. I am waiting for Horace Slughorn to arrive. Then, the proper paperwork can be signed."

Again, Fairfield waved him off. "Dear Horace is in dispose and will no longer be able to take a teaching position." She pulled Crooket forward, arm wrapping around the young woman's shoulders. "Alice has, graciously, offered to take the position. She is a  _bit_  overqualified for the position, but better overqualified than under-qualified as some of your previous chooses have been, Mr. Dumbledore."

" _Headmaster_."

"Yes, as you say," Fairfield simply smiled. "I have her paperwork for you to file. She will be staying with you for one year. Correct, Alice?"

Crooket nodded. "Yes ma'am. I do like my Ministry job." She looked to Albus and offered him a smile. "This is but a favor for the year."

Albus blinked as she stared into the woman's dark eyes.  _A favor?_  Of course! That is what it was. Alice wanted to ensure no one as horrid as Umbridge was left to teach in Hogwarts. Though, he would preferred Slughorn—not only was the man under his influence, but it would also have opened the Defense position for Severus—but Alice Crooket would do. She perhaps wasn't easy to manipulate, but would ultimately follow his order in the end.

The Headmaster smiled. "Yes, of course. Thank you. You'll have to explain to me what happen to Horace later. He is such a dear friend of mine,"  _I'll be needing to get in touch with him again soon. He_ is _hiding from Tom for a reason._  "Now, you've missed the staff meeting, but I'm sure I can fill you in, dear Alice."

_**Through the Veil** _

Theodore Nott was worried. It was the first year that Draco had refrained from bragged about his summer. In fact, the blond pureblood was near silent, excluding the occasional complaints concerning Potter, which Theo reasoned would never stop. Draco would not be himself if he stopped caring about Harry Potter, even in this depressed state.

He raised an eyebrow to Blaise, nodding in the Malfoy's direction. His Italian friend offered a shrug and mumbled about Draco finally getting over the obsession. This was followed with a snort from both of them. Draco would never get over his obsession with the hero schoolboy, even if his life depended on it. Considering what his father had told him was happening at Malfoy Manor, Theo thought Draco's life might very well be depending on that soon.

"Draco, darling, you're quiet today," Pansy noted. The ice queen draped herself across the blond, taking chance while she could. "What ever is wrong?"

Weakly, Draco shrugged her off. "Nothing Pans." He gave the brunette girl a tight smile as a warning to drop the topic. "How was your summer?"

Theo barely to suspense a groan. Pansy Parkinson could spin a story, which only became more elaborate upon someone  _asking_ for said story. Draco knew this, but that was  _why_  he asked. He wanted the limelight away from himself, even if that meant Pansy droning on. It was a strategy Draco hadn't used as of yet, but effective nonetheless.

That exact strategy, resulting in Draco's thoughts taking him far away, was what caused the blond to walk into a girl, whom blinked owlishly and did not apologize to the Slytherin's current king.

_Well, her funeral then._

"Who do you think you are? Do you have eyes? Can't you see not to walk into  _me_?" Instantly, Draco spoiled prat mask fell into place, a look the rest of Hogwarts knew well. A look Theo despised. He preferred the Draco he saw in the dorm rooms, calculating if not obsessive.

The girl...woman had to be a seventh year if not an apprentice to a professor. She was too matured and her eyes too hardened to be younger. Even in some of the professors, Theodore hadn't seen such deep, hardened eyes, nor such a dark gleam. It reminded him of photographs of Bellatrix Lestrange, before the woman lost her sanity. Similar to a snake waiting to strike. Yet, as the woman's eyes landed on their robes, she swallowed and the gleam went away. "S-sorry. Just trying to find the Great Hall..."

Draco sneered and Pansy smirked like a cat pursuing prey. "You didn't answer his question," the ice queen purred. "Who do you think you are,  _girl_?"

The dark haired woman pressed her lips into a thin line. "Abigail. I am staying at Hogwarts." The woman glanced around them. Theo did as well. They were isolated from the other students and professors. Looking back, he found her with a vicious smirk in place. "Judging by your ploy for power, hanging onto someone whom holds much more than youself, I'll assume you're a Parkinson." She sneered at the name. "They're all alike. All very weak. You." Her piercing gaze moved to Draco. "Ooo, you're a Malfoy. Aren't you? Judging by those cheek bones, I'll say you're related to Braxy...perhaps a little Black in you, whatever. Braxy was a fun boy to play with. Somewhat smart."

Pansy reered, snarling like the pug she resembled. "Little bitch. You can't talk to us like that! We  _rule_  Slytherin!"

"A  _weak_  ruling at that. Too bad. Tom and I had such hopes for the future." Abigail yawned and glanced to the rest of them. Her eyes landed on Theo. Ignoring Pansy, who only flared more, she approached him. "You're a Nott. Tell me, are you Theodred's son?"

Theodore nodded. "Yes. Theodred Nott is my father. Who is asking?"

Abigail gasped softly. Her grin smoothed into a sweet smile. "A Nightingale is asking." She rolled her ankles, looking up to the tall teen.

Theo pursed his lips. Her black hair seemed to move with every little shift. It was inky black and looked soft as a bird's feathers. The constant movement of it made her hair resemble wings... "Oh." The teen laughed, his father's words coming back to him. He took Abigail's hand, kissing it. "What a pleasure it is to meet you, sweet Nightingale."

Abigail let out a shrill laugh and took both of Theodore's hands. "Lovely! He did tell you! Theodred was always such a smart man, one of Tom's Court that I allowed into my collection. I am glad he had passed it onto you." Her eyes darted around and she dropped one of the teen's hands. "We can further discuss this in the common room, later when there are fewer ears. May I sit with you?"

Theo squeezed her hand. "Of course. We will meet you at the table."

Nodding, the woman released him and skipped off to the Great Hall, hair flying like wings around her.

Draco frowned, watching his friend closely. "Theodore, what was that?"

Smiling, Theo nodded to where Abigail had gone. "My father told me stories of his time at Hogwarts," everyone tensed, knowing  _who_  Theodred Nott had been in school with, "He always mentioned a Nightingale disguised as a raven who hid within the snakes den."

Slowly, the blond nodded. "Let us not risk angering her, if she did know your father and our lord?" He offered.

"Yes. Let's not."


	7. Not Lost, but Searching

_**Through the Veil** _

**_Not Lost, but Searching_ **

Draco Malfoy was not sure how to react to this Abigail girl who had attached herself to Theodore. She seemed to be two different personalities housed within a single body. There was that shy, childish girl whom ran into him—that was the girl Nightingale showed for the Sorting and feast—then, there was the witty, cunning woman whom well represented the Slytherin colors she wore. He was not sure what left him more unsettled, the woman who had frightened  _Pansy_  or knowing that woman was hidden beneath this child's mask.

Was it not for this woman,  _presumably_ , having a connection to their lord— _his lord_ , Draco reminded himself—he wouldn't have put up with her. Theodore could do what he wished, but Draco couldn't chance anything getting in the way of his assigned mission.

"Draco..." Pansy clung to his arm. A sneer began to formed on his face, but was quickly wiped away. "What are we going to do about the Nightingale girl?"

Pansy's eyes darted around the room as she spoke. He could not be sure what Nightingale had whispered to Pansy before departing from them after the feast, but it certainly left her shaken.  _I must learn this technique; anything to leave Pansy speechless._  "It has yet to be decided." His voice was cool and collected. No matter how much he disliked his father, Lucius Malfoy was the man to imitate when things were uncertain.  _Perhaps because things are_ _ **always**_ _uncertain for him_. The thought made him grin.

Pansy stuck out her lower lip. "I want her gone! She's...she's a threat to our goals. You saw her as well as I, clapping for everyone sorted, even the mudbloods and Gryffindorks!"

"I expected that word  _never_  to be said outside these walls."

Pansy squeaked, jumping nearly five feet. Draco flexed his arm. She had finally released him.

Abigail Nightingale grinned at them from the House entrance, Theodore still on her arm. A wicked grin curved at her lips. "This House has become a disgrace since my time here. I will not have a  _Parkinson_ , of all things, ruining the Slytherin name further because she has lose lips."

Draco, like many other Slytherins, straightened out. Nightingale's voice resembled his Uncle Sev's too much to be a coincidence. Severus could talk to the oldest of wizards as if they were eleven years old and get away with it. This woman sounded as if she would happily do the same.

That in mind, the Malfoy heir stepped forward, a tactic his mother had once taught him for when one needed to gain the upper hand. "We have much to discuss."

Theodore leaned in, his lips hidden by Nightingale's hair as he whispered. Draco frowned in betrayal. Theodore Nott was  _his_ , and a Malfoy never shared. "Really? Well, he is a Malfoy, so that  _does_  make sense." Her toxic green eyes never parted from Draco's. "You are correct, Draco Malfoy. We do have much to discuss."

"Let us sit." Draco motioned to an empty corner of the Slytherin common room. It was the section that had always been reserved for the Slytherin King, or Queen, and his or her faux court. There had not been an official Slytherin court for sixty odd years, not since the Dark Lord was in school if the stories were true, there was always a Slytherin King or Queen. With them came the group they choose to rule beside them, ergo the faux court.

Nightingale shook her head. "No. We need this settled in the open, with all the Slytherins, even the cute little ones." She cooed at a small group of the first years huddled together in a cold corner of the common room. "I want everyone to know who I am and what I stand for.

"Firstly, this Parkinson girl. She's who you all identify as your Slytherin Queen?" The Malfoy as their King, she could buy. Abraxas Malfoy took on the Prince title at one point, after all. But a Parkinson? In her experience, they were grovelers. Pansy only proved her point by sneering distastefully. No one came to the pug faced girl's defense, finding something interesting in their surroundings instead. "She is a queen  _by default_? How pathetic. Not just by her either. Many of the girls in this room could have overthrown her. If not, I am sorely disappointed. Unfortunately, I expect no less from a  _Parkinson_."

Pansy's eyes widened as she looked from one face to the other. No one would stand to her defense? "Draco?" The blond found his nails extremely interesting then. "What is wrong with the lot of you?! What happened to 'Slytherins keep together'? What about the first rule of Slytherin House?" Her darkened eyes turned to Nightingale. "You're the bitch whose ruining everything. As if you're even a Slytherin! Slytherins stick together, no matter what problems we have with each oth—ah!" The girl gagged. Her eyes widened and Pansy frantically grabbed for her throat.

Nightingale grinned, wand out as she twirled it. "Suffoco; an acquaintance created that little spell. It's a weak curse,  _unfortunately_. He didn't weave the magic correctly around the word, but it is a sufficient torture spell." Releasing Theodore's arm, the raven took slow steps until she stood directly before Pansy. "Suffoco is Latin for suffocate, choke, stifle, strangle. Not a bad word, very direct. If the magic had been woven  _correctly_ , you would die within minutes as you slowly felt the life bleed from your body. But it  _wasn't_  woven correctly. Air is still getting to you, no matter how small the amount is. You could hold to life like this for hours. Your body will decide what needs oxygen the most. Organs will die. Your heart is most likely to give out before the brain, which will bring your death. I predict panic, enough to induce a heart attack. Nothing magical can save you from that death." She laughed.

Pansy's knees gave out. She continued holding her throat, choking for air. As Nightingale said, panic was written across her face.

"To my point yes? Don't mess with me. I don't like  _weak_   _little_   _ **maggots**_. Perhaps they are useful in a Court, but I've never seen the point of them, not for my purposes. They're collateral damage. They can bring the whole Court down to save their own skin.  _That's_ how weak they are." Nightingale knelt down, meeting Pansy's eyes. "Do you know who made the weak Suffoco curse? It was a man in 1939. He wanted to join the Slytherin Court, a fourth year, and thought making a curse like that would get him in. It didn't. After he graduated, though, he joined the Death Eaters. I'm sure he's still only in the outer circle to this day. Does the name Jarith Parkinson ring a bell?"

Pansy let out a strangled sound, tears falling down her cheeks. Her lips curled to form 'no'.

" _Repiratus_." Pansy collapsed to the floor, desperately sucking in breath. "You're lucky I made a counter curse to your grandfather's mistake, Parkinson, otherwise you would have suffered a slow death." Nightingale stood, addressing the common room. "I do not like idiotic children. Miss Parkinson is, unfortunately, an idiotic child. Hopefully, with this display, she will learn. Understand I do not enjoy hurting my snakes. None of you need to be hurt.  _But_ , understand I will  _not_  hesitate to punish you if you break the rules. First rule, don't use the word 'mudblood' outside this common room. We have a bad reputation as it is. I don't want more propaganda going around."

Nightingale motioned with her hand and Theodore was beside her once again. "With that also comes another rule. Why has Slytherin come to be considered the 'dark' and 'house of bullies'? You're in this house because you're cunning and ambitious! Do you think you will reach your dreams if others know you bully and blackmail to get what you want? No! Use your Slytherin traits. If you're going to bully, change the color of your tie and don't get bloody caught.

"As for the rules Miss Parkinson has mentioned, they are still in affect. Slytherin House is your family, first and foremost. Individual differences do not matter. If a snake is in need, you help. Outside of this common room, the lot of us put forth a united front." The raven turned to Pansy. "Stay out of my way, keep these rules, and I will stay out of yours. Use this as a learning experience. Get stronger and form a political face. No one came to your aid for a reason, Miss Parkinson, and it is not solely because I am a frightening force." She offered a hand. Pansy only stared at it for a moment before finally accepting the appendage, allowing Nightingale to pull her to her feet. "There we go."

Pansy took a sharp breath and nodded. "I will head to my dorm now." With the bob of Nightingale's head, she was off faster than a post owl.

Nightingale smiled at the gathered Slytherins. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Abigail Nightingale. My family is originally from continental Europe and migrated to the isles when muggle and wizarding warfare broke out in the nineteen thirties. I was sorted into Slytherin house and, for most of my Hogwarts's career, was the Slytherin Queen." She hooked arms with Theodore. "Some of you will know the name Tom Riddle, will know what he was and who he became. I have more pull over him than anyone else. The lot of you should understand my reasons for wanting to bring Slytherin House back to its prime. Thank you. If there are any other questions, please feel free to approach me. Slytherins stick together; we are family."

The woman turned to Draco. "Lead the way, young Malfoy. I still have much to tell you."

_**Through the Veil** _

The Sorting and Welcome Back Feast was absolutely horrible and no one could convince Harry otherwise.

Ron and Hermione had jumped down his throat immediately. Hermione had went so far as to rudely push Neville from the spot at Harry's side. The pair was so loud that McGonagall had  _ **stopped**_ _the Sorting_  to glare at  _ **her**_   _Gryffindors_. Even then, Ron didn't shut up! Needless to say, Harry had ignored them in favor of speaking with Dean Thomas about his summer. Neville was endlessly amused.

Their arrival at Gryffindor Tower hadn't been any better. Ron and Hermione continued their interrogation, despite Harry ignoring them in favorite of playing chess with Neville. Then,  _then,_  Hermione had the nerve to scold _him_  for not finding _them_  on the train. That was when Harry truly lost it—"Maybe its because you didn't answer any of my letters this summer, Hermione! Don't look so damn smug, Ron! You fucking ignored me too!"—and Neville had to calm him down because "McGonagall would be there any second."

Indeed, their head of house did come in, only seconds after Harry had sat down. Once she was gone, Hermione pounced, giving him her excuse—"Dumbledore said no writing to you Harry! Our letters could be traced and with Vol-Vold...you-know-who active, we can't have him finding you!" with Ron vigorously nodding behind her. "That's not a good fucking excuse!" Then, promptly, Harry turned and played Exploding Snap with Dean and Neville.

Ron and Hermione, needless to say, got the hint and stayed away from Harry. "Give him a few days to calm down," Hermione had stage whispered as she pushed Ron away. Harry could only grin, glad for the few days of  _quiet_.

The next morning, Harry sat between Neville and Dean during breakfast. Hermione and Ron were close enough to ease drop on him, but not obviously so. It turned out not to matter, because Dean was rather loud when he glanced over at Harry's timetable. "Blimely Harry! How'd you get into Potions? I heard that Snape was accepting Os and Es this year, but..."

Instantly, Harry's face heated up. "...I got an E on my OWL in Potions," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. Hedwig had been waiting in the dormitory the night prior with his OWL scores and, because he was still angry with Ron and not close enough to Dean, he had shared them with Neville.

Dean could only gap at him, along with all those surrounding them. As far as everyone knew, Hermione was the only Gryffindor in their year with  _any_  talent in Potions. Well, Harry  _didn't_  have talent in Potions, but the OWL was surprisingly easy when he didn't have a presence like Snape hovering over him. Plus, Neville had been helping him with Herbology all year. Considering how many herbs were used in potions, he had easily aced—or close to—the written exam.

Ginny was the first to break the silence. "Congratulations Harry. I'm glad Snape lowered the requirements. Hopefully, he keeps it like that for next year so I could get in."

Harry made a face at how much the redhead was batting her eyelashes.  _Had they always been that long?_  "Please, you're a wiz at Potions. You'll get an O easily."

The younger girl cooed and moved closer, starting up a discussion about  _everything_  she had done that summer. Needless to say, the raven didn't listen to a word she said, not wanting to hear about how Hermione was with her for all but two weeks of the hols.

Potions, his first class of the term, wasn't  _as_ horrible as it could have been. In fact, it was the  _best_   _ **Potions class**_ Harry had ever attend. Snape belittled him for only two minutes before pairing them off to brew. He was paired with a Slytherin—Snape was particularly sadistic that day—but Nott turned out to be bloody brilliant. Not only did he stop Harry from making careless mistakes, snapping about  _why_  it was a mistake, but he also made witty remarks behind Snape's back—" _Honestly_  Malfoy. You'd think with how much product you put in your hair, you could tell the difference between hair gel and dragon wax." Losing ten House points was worth hearing that.

Professor Crooket, a Ministry assigned professor who Harry had been dreading to attend class with since the Sorting, turned out to know her subject. For the first time since third year, Harry felt as if he was learning something in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Yes, they had to suffer through a quiz during the first half of class, but the practical part made the quiz worth it. Professor Crooket had read over his quiz and OWL results and asked Harry to preform his Patronus charm for her. She gave him  _tips_  on how to preform it  _more easily_. Summing it up, despite her being a Ministry official, Harry and many others like their Defense professor.

Other than the abundance of homework, Harry's year was beginning on a nice note. Perhaps he and Neville were struggling through the essays, both  _refused_  to ask Hermione for help until the girl lost her attitude, but they could deal with that. Nott would sit at a table with them when they were in the library, along with other sixth year Potions students like Padma Patil and Ernie Macmillan, and sometimes (read:often) look over Harry's shoulder to point out when his essay sounded incorrect. Outside of the library and classes, he barely saw Nott, though Padma had attached herself to Neville and him. She was much easier to get along with than her Gryffindor twin.

It was Sunday. Harry had all his homework due over the next two days finished and planned on flying around the Pitch for a few hours—Hermione had looked as if she were going to object when he came out with his broom, but promptly shut it when she remembered they weren't talking. He felt he deserved a good fly. He hadn't gotten the chance to that summer with being stuck on Private Drive. Plus, his homework was done early. That definitely meant he deserved a reward like this.

Neville was quick to change this plan as he saw Harry in the Entrance Hall, stalking him down when he realized who it was.

"Luna's said the 'Nargles' have gotten her shoes again." Neville rolled his eyes at this point. His lips were set in a line and he looked deadly, much like the determined boy Harry had seen at the end of fifth year. "She won't listen to me when I say it's those bloody roommates of hers. I swear, if it happens again,  _I'll_ drag her to Flitwick."

Harry's jaw set. Unlike Luna, who wanted to see the good in people, he knew that her dorm mates weren't good. Her things didn't mysteriously go missing, but, no matter how many times Neville voiced this, Luna kept blaming the Nargles. Letting out a huff, the raven gave his broom a longing look.  _No flying today then_. "I'll check the grounds, heading out there anyway. Start searching the castle. After lunch, we'll cover whatever you hadn't got to in the castle. Good?"

Receiving Neville's nod, he continued outside. Maybe he could skirt around the forest's edge and lake with his broom...Luna's shoes tended to be brightly colored. That way he could still get a fly and keep an eye out for his friend? Shaking his head, Harry rejected the idea. It wasn't worth it. Walking was just as good. Plus, they could get lucky. Neville might find the shoes before lunch then he would have all afternoon for flying. Yes. That's what would happen. They'd only been in school for a week. Fifth year Ravenclaws couldn't have put them somewhere tootricky.

"You're looking lost."

Harry glanced up. It was early and he hadn't excepted anyone out yet, especially on a Sunday. Most of the student body saved that day for homework. Yet, there was a girl sitting beside the lake. Her feet were bare and the cold water lapped at her toes. Her long hair, though dark, was wavy and caused him to think of Luna. This brought a smile to Harry's face and he shook his head. "Not lost...more like searching."

The girl chuckled and popped up. "Searching? Why, that's a curious emotion. Then again, lost is just as much a curious emotion." She shook her head. "No matter. What are you searching for?"

"A pair of shoes." Had he seen this girl around Hogwarts before? Maybe, there was something familiar about her. She seemed too old to be a student. Was she a graduate, apprenticing for one of the professors? Or, maybe, she only looked older because she reminded him of Luna, with how her hair was billowing in the soft breeze and eyes held a glassy, wise tone. "My friend had lost them. Well, not lost. I'm certain that her dorm mates have taken them, but she won't believe they could have."

The glassy tone left the girl's jade eyes in an instant. "Someone has went in your friends trunk and stolen something of hers?" With Harry's nod, her entire face hardened. "Well, that seems rather rude. I do  _not_  tolerate rude people." She let out a huff of air through her nostrils. "May I help look?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. Certainly won't do me any harm to have a second pair of eyes helping."

She gave a cheery nod. "Excellent. I am Abigail, and you?"

"Huh?"

"What's your name?" She rolled her eyes. "It's only appropriate to exchange names, since it seems we will be spending much of the day together."

"Oh. Uhm, Harry."

Nodding, Abigail linked their arms and pulled him along, not giving Harry a chance to protest.

Never before had he meant someone in the wizarding world who had asked for his name. They'd asked for his autograph and story plenty of times, but not his name. No. Everyone  _knew_  who he was. He reached up and touched his forehead. His scar was in full view. Abigail must have seen it and known who he was.

A little grin slipped onto Harry's face. She'd done it on purpose, must have. Abigail had known exactly who he was and thought to ask his name anyway, as a common courtesy. He liked her already, just for that. Abigail had done what no one else had and it left Harry with a giddy feeling inside. He felt  _ordinary_  and that was  _great._


	8. Unexpected Alliances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month in November. I will not be posting a chapter again until December, as a warning. Apologies.

_**Through the Veil** _

_**Unexpected Alliances** _

"And how are you adjusting?"

" _Hmmf."_

"What was that?" A dark eyebrow was raised.

Abigail groaned and throw her arms down. " _Fine_. I am doing  _fine._ " This only seemed to amuse Alice Crooket further.

She hadn't thought it would have been so horrible to have the Unspeakable woman at Hogwarts. What did it matter if she was keeping an eye on Abigail? It ensured her protection if Dumbledore tried something again. Crooket couldn't have Abigail up and disappearing again, only to appear through the Veil another fifty years later.

That was before Abigail discovered she would be having sessions with Crooket, sessions to pick at her brain. How was Abigail expected to play the facade of an eleven year old mind when Crooket could obviously see through her mask? Or, she had already seen the woman Abigail was, in those short few minutes before Dumbledore appeared in the hospital ward.

A smile curved to Crooket's face. "Miss Nightingale...Abigail...these are private sessions. I am conducting them as a Head with the Department of Mysteries, not as a Professor at Hogwarts. Headmaster Dumbledore will not be told of what is said within these sessions. Yes, my Occlumency shield are good enough to hide your secrets, so do not look at me in such a way."

Despite herself, Abigail felt her muscles relax. She hadn't realized how much that worried her.

"Abigail, why do you worry about the Headmaster discovering these sessions?"

The raven let out a huff. "I want an oath. Whether you wish for me to speak about my intentions for this strange world I find myself in, or the past five years I have spent in the  _other_  world, it will require a secrecy oath on your part." Crooket tensed. "Look at it this way. You can still fill out your report. You can record all we discuss, all my medical files,  _everything,_  and lock it away in the Department of Mysteries. That's what you plan to do, isn't it? This is not but research for you, research into the Veil of Death and how I survived it. You can have that; you can have everything. All I require is an oath that information will not be shared,  _by anyone_ , until a later date."

"How much later?"

Abigail paused. She pondered her goals, how long they should take to achieve, and then how long Tom's ultimate goal would take following that. To be safe, she added extra time should there be complications. "Let us say...five years. You and a select few Unspeakables may use this information as you please, so long as it does not break your vow and does not leave your department, for five years. Once those five years are up, you may publish any findings you come across."

Crooket sized Abigail, eyes racking over the woman's form. Finally, she nodded. "Very well. I will agree to this and take a wizard's oath, as well as give the oath to those who view this information."

"Excellent!"

"In exchange," the brunette continued, eyeing Abigail warily. "You, in return, will not share any personal information you learn about me."

The raven chuckled. "Yes, because you will have to use your given name to swear such an oath, correct? As I suspected, Alice Crooket is not your true name. Very good, madam. Very good." Seeing that her taunts did not affect Crooket in the least, Abigail raised her wand hand. "I, Abigail Nightingale, swear on my magic not to reveal any personal information which I learn during these sessions with the witch going by the persona Alice Crooket regarding the witch going by the persona Alice Crooket."

"So mote it be." Silver and purple strands of magic intertwined around the two woman before dissolving into Abigail's skin. "Thank you. My job, and perhaps my life, depends on my identity being hidden."

Abigail waved her off. "You are an Unspeakable. It is to be expect. Now, if you do not mind dear  _Alice_."

The woman snorted as she rose her wand arm. "I, Astra Gaunt, hereby swear on my magic to keep all information learned from and about Abigail Nightingale during these meetings secret, with the exception of those who take a similar oath as I, for the extent of five years." Blue and green strands of magic circled them before disappearing into Astra's chest.

"So mote it be... I thought Gaunt was an extinct line." Abigail's brain was spinning. The last recorded members of the family were Marvolo Gaunt, who died of his own foolishness, Morfin Gaunt, who was a recluse and probably in Azkaban  _again_ , and Mereope Gaunt, who was metaphorically disowned by her family and died sixteen years prior—well, sixteen years prior to 1943. From 1996, it would have been seventy years.

Crooket... _Gaunt_...gave an almost shy smile. "My great grandfather was 'disowned' from the family and tossed into the muggle world because he was a squib, or had so little magic to be a near squib. Seeing as the Gaunts never made it official with Gringotts or the Ministry, my line was able to keep their name. Do you understand why I have taken the pseudo Alice Crooket now? It would be a disaster should the population discover the Gaunt line is still prominent. If a mob did not kill me, or the Ministry did not lock me away for an absurd reason, then Voldemort would, no doubt, search for me."

Abigail's spine straightened. "Voldemort?"  _What does_ _ **Tom's**_ _pseudo have to do with anything?_

Crooket nodded. "Yes. Are you not briefed on history of the past sixty odd years?"

A sneer formed on her thin lips. "The books within the history sections are 'magically blank' whenever I look for past events. It does not help that teachers are not willing to share such information with me and it would look odd were I to ask students of events I should have prior knowledge of." Abigail cracked her neck before calming. "Tell me, why is this Voldemort figure important and what does he have to do with you being a Gaunt?"

Though hesitant, Crooket briefed Abigail on the major events of the past half century. By the time she reached most recent events, Voldemort's appearance in the Ministry just months before, the raven was grinning.

"How excellent," Abigail laughed. "Tom  _is_  still working toward his goals. Though, it is rather disappointing in how he is going about it." The laugh melted away and the sneer took its place. "We agreed permanent change only sticks if it is done through politics." That way, the people thought it was their doing rather than believing they were manipulated into another's plans. The masses loved being fooled, but only if they never discovered they were the fool. "I will have to fix that once we meet again."

"Then you are aware of Tom Riddle, and that he is Voldemort?" It would certainly explain Abigail's words upon their first meeting, about needing 'Tom'. It wouldn't, however, match the timeline of memories Abigail had told everyone. According to the Department of Mysteries records, one of the only departments that connected Riddle Jr. to Voldemort, Riddle was two years Abigail's junior. That gave her more than memories from her first year of Hogwarts.

The grin came back to the raven's face. "Oh, this is where we get into the fun part. I lied, apologies for that but Dumbles wouldn't allow me from his sight had he suspected I was still 'dark'," she rolled her eyes, "I'm not dark, so you know. If I  _must_  be classified, I'm grey. I've always advocated that every type of magic deserves to be studied, if not practiced. Dumbledick did not agree with me,  _obviously_."

Crooket snatched up her quill, scribbling their conversation, before charming the feather to record everything else that was said. She would have five years to examine it. She would take  _all_  the information she could get. "Why?"

"Why did I lie about the extent of my memories? Or why do Dumbledick and I disagree?"

"Both."

Abigail leaned back in her chair. "Very well. As I said, Dumbledore doesn't like dark magic, nor the magicals whom practice it. During my years at Hogwarts, and even some before, I studied dark magic. I studied  _all_  magic, whatever I could get my hands on. I  _devoured_ textbooks. For two years, Dumbles didn't see a problem with this. After all, I wasn't applying it. I had 'light' friends and wasn't a threat. That changed during my third year.

"In 1938, a Slytherin by the name Tom Marvolo Riddle entered Hogwarts. Tom was a natural at Charms. Upon discovering this, I had to have him. You see, I didn't have a Charms master in my collection—yes, I did say collection—yet. Minny McGonagall was a natural at Transfiguration, Poppy Pomfrey had a talent with plants and healing magic, Mason Gibbs could breeze through History even with Binns teaching, and Xeno Lovegood was amazing with Astronomy and Divination, without having taken either class. I needed a Charms natural so I approached Tom, pulled him into my circle. It was the best decision I've ever made.

"Tom was not only excellent when applying himself to a subject, but a natural charisma. All the first years, Slytherin or otherwise, were wrapped around his finger. I have a similar way with words. Seeing this connection, I may have taken him under my wing and encouraged him to study every magic, no matter the stereotypes they held in that day's society. He heeded my advice and, by second year, was fascinated with the Dark Arts.

"Dumbledore blames me for making Tom the way he is. During our final conversation before my 'disappearance', he said that I pushed Tom over the edge, pulled the evil out of him instead of smashing it as any sane human would have done, as he would have done." Abigail chuckled. "I told him if he wanted to know who truly pushed Tom over the edge, he should look in the mirror.

"There. Did that answer both questions?"

Crooket glanced over the parchment as the quill slowed to a stop. "Yes. You disagree because of your view on darker magics and because of your encouraging others to study before developing an opinion. You lied to him because..."

Abigail smiled dully. "I don't want him to know that I remember my Tom. Apparently, judging by the way he is handling his regime, Tom didn't take to my 'disappearance' well, divulging even further into the dark arts. He became Voldemort and insane to boot." She sighed, "Even knowing that, I'll still chose Tom's side. I  _shaped_  him. He is the only person whom I would trust with my life in this world. Dumbles knows that and he cannot risk me being on Tom's side in this type of war."

The raven met Crooket's eyes. "I am a very powerful witch, Miss Crooket. No, I'm not a master in all the subjects. I wouldn't be able to complete an animagus transformation without further study. I can't identify what the difference is between one beastly plant and another easily. I'm not all-knowing or perfect. My power comes from my mind, the way I solve problems. I can spin words. I made all-light witch Minerva McGonagall stand against her favorite teacher, Dumbledore, in favor of Tom, who was in the wrong in that situation. I charmed a  _light witch_  into protecting a less-than-light wizard before 'King of all Light'. If Tom, already a master manipulator, has me beside him, Dumbledore knows he will  _never_  win.  _That_  is why I lied. He'd keep me from Tom and that cannot happen. Not again."

Alice watched the younger woman stew in her anger. The mask all Slytherins possessed was still in place yet she could still see the raw rage through it, through the way her jade eyes boiled. It sent a shiver down her spine.

Abigail closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she had felt raw anger so strong it could overpower her mask, certainly before Loki had taken her as an apprentice. Albus Dumbledore simply knew how to pick  _just_ the right nerve inside of her to make her lose it. Taking a deep breath, she buried her anger within. It wasn't healthy, not in the slightest, but it was what she needed at the moment. Showing these feelings, this true  _hatred_  for the leader of the light would not do her any favors. The anger and hatred needed to be saved for a more convenient time.

Mask back in place, she opened her eyes, hoping she appeared the era of calm to Crooket. "I would like to end this session."

Crooket eyed her for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Let's meet up again on Wednesday."

Without another word, the raven swept from the room, leaving Alice staring after her hair. While she hadn't originally planned on acting as a therapist, it seemed that she would be taking on that job as well. Abigail needed one, after suppressing feelings for so long. "Hopefully, it will do her some good."

_**Through the Veil** _

Abigail wasn't much a fan of Quidditch. It seemed like a violent, deadly game of Muggle catch played a few hundred feet in the air. There was little point to it and she never wished to play. (Flying on a broom…that she could see the value in. It was the easiest form of magical transportation and takes the least amount of magical energy. Everyone should be moderately decent in broom flying.) Harry, however, enjoyed the sport. No, she couldn't even say that. Harry enjoyed the chase and the sensation of flying in general. Because he would smile so brightly every time he looked down and spotted her in the stands, she would stay.

"He's so very happy up there. Unfortunately, it always infests him with Geackspourts."

The odd word made Abigail's head snap up. "Grackspourts?" She whispered, her voice holding a slight shake.

The girl beside her was at least a head shorter and had wild blonde hair that easily fell to her waist. Her eyes were clouded but her smile brilliant. In a dream like voice that Abigail hadn't heard in years, the girl said, " _Gea_ ckspourts. They always nest when someone is flying. It creates an almost feeding ground for them." Her laugh was like tiny bells. "Seeing as Harry will never give up flying, I make a point to take care of the infestation for him whenever his practices are over."

"Oh?" Abigail swallowed. Those eyes…they resembled one of her Collections far too much for it to be a coincidence. "You are Harry's friend?"

"Yes. He is my best friend, my first friend. I will do anything for him Miss Nightingale." Her glassy eyes never left Abigail's. "Whatever you are planning, Neville and I shall be tagging along for. We promised to be there for him, and that is what we shall do."

The raven's face hardened. "That is quite loyal of you. Not knowing what the path is, but you are still willing to follow blindly. It can also be considered very stupid."

Smiling, the teen gave a small shrug. "Perhaps, but Harry is worth it. He never again deserves to be alone. Smile now." The girl lifted her hand and waved.

Glancing up, Abigail found Harry flying just a few feet away from them, large smile on his lips. Without hesitation, she waved as well. His smile only widened.

"I'm glad you've both met!" He ran a hand through his windblown hair. "Luna, this is Abigail. She hasn't yet explained why she's attending Hogwarts so late. Not sure if she trusts me yet," he laughed. "Abigail, this is my friend Luna Lovegood. You helped me find her shoes."  _"Harry!"_  Was called from the distance. "Got to go, but we can all go down for a late lunch in the kitchens after practice is over, yeah?" Not waiting for confirmation, he flew off.

The Slytherin's eyes widened. "Lovegood?" Yes, that would explain it. It would explain all of it, from the cloudy eyes to the odd creatures that no one else could see. "Tell me, would your father's name happen to be Xenophilius?"

Luna gave a little nod. "Yes."

Abigail did not stop the little smile that curved at her lips. "I knew him, dear. He was a good man if not a little odd. Then again, the best of us are a little odd at times. Don't you know?" Almost naturally, her body gravitated toward the little Ravenclaw.

A smile easily came to Luna's face as well. "I believe I do know Miss Nightingale."

"Just Abigail, dear. You, like your father, have earned the right."

_**Through the Veil** _

The edges of Neville's vision fuzzed even after walking across the castle, from the Charms' classroom to the infirmary. He couldn't be positive if Weasley's "misfired" spell had been aimed at him, but Neville  _had_  been sitting beside Harry, so he couldn't rule out anything. Weasley was being pissy with the both of them for the moment. With Harry's anger not cooling, Neville was sure the ginger's temper tantrum would strive on. Unfortunately, with being placed into Harry's recently open best friend slot, Neville was sure to get the blunt of Weasley's anger.

He expected to be angry with that thought. He was, after all, being unfairly targeted. Yet, Neville couldn't help but smile. Every one of Ronald Weasley's icy glares only made it truer.

He was Harry's best friend. He, Neville Longbottom, the bane of Gryffindor house, had a best friend. Not only that, but a best friend who would willingly speak of their friendship in public, not caring of the consequences that would undoubtedly follow the admission of being friends of the "almost squib".

Neville Longbottom was the first student to walk into Madam Pomfrey's wing with a grin plastered across his face. Even as the matron fussed over him, uttering complaints of his clumsiness and made the usual comment of "avoid regular visits this year, yes Mister Longbottom?", the smile didn't drop.

It was only after Madam Pomfrey tittered off to get a potion for his vision (Weasley had botched his charm and the stars and black dots wouldn't dissolve on their own), did Neville take note of the girl on the bed beside him. She didn't look sick. In fact, she looked to be in perfect health.

The girl brushed a strand of dark hair from her face. "Hello," she popped the lolly from her mouth to speak. "Who cursed you?"

"No one cursed me." The words came out as a reflex. The girl arched one of her eyebrows and Neville flushed. "Well, he told Prof Flitwick that he'd misfired his charm, but I'm ninety-nine point nine percent sure Weasley was aiming for me or Harry."

"Harry?" Neville gave a hesitant nod. She grinned and licked her lolly. "I like him. 's nice, the way he helps his friends. I helped him look for Luna's shoes about three weeks ago. I didn't realize we were looking for Luna's shoes at the time, but she explained it to me when we finally met." She giggled. "So, you must be the other friend Harry and Lu talk about?"

_Lu? Who called Luna Lu? Well, I haven't actually seen anyone try before, but it's still weird._ The brunette gave a nod. "I suppose, maybe. I'm sure they have other friends. I'm Neville, if that helps."

"Definitely the one they talk about. Lu's always Neville this, Neville that, with some Harry thrown in. She's so cute." There was a crunching sound as she snapped the lolly in half. "I'm called Abigail. It is nice to finally meet you Neville."

" _The_ Abigail?" Neville flushed as he realized he'd spoken the words out loud. "Sorry. That was rude. Ignore me."

He hadn't been able to help it. He'd been hearing everyone who was anyone talk about the mysterious Abigail girl. No one had seen her before the start of this term and she wasn't a student, too old and wise for that. When she was attending classes, which tended to be Charms or Potions and Transfiguration NEWT courses, she made a show out of it. According to Katie Bell, this Abigail was the only person she'd seen who could keep up with Snape's snark. It didn't help that Harry was one of those who kept mentioning the girl. They were really friends, now that Abigail confirmed it.

Neville frowned.  _He won't get rid of me because he found someone better, will he?_

The raven girl pinched his cheek. "You're adorable Neville. It wasn't rude. I  _know_  that I'm being talked about. I want to be talked about. No one can appear out of nowhere and not be talked about." She laughed. "It just depends what they're saying if I'm angry or not."

The brunette flushed again. "'m not adorable. I'm sixteen."

Abigail snorted. "Sweetie, you're very, very adorable. I don't care what age someone is, they can always be adorable. Unless their personality is sour. Then they're just an arse. Like the Weasley boy who cursed you! He's an arse."

Neville smiled, finding his shoes very interesting then. "You're nice for someone as snarky as Snape."

"Thank you. I'm only nice to people who deserve it." Abigail hoped from her perch on the bed. "Have a lolly."

"A lolly?"

"Yeah. They're muggle, supposed to have chocolate at the center." There was another crunch as Abigail bit into her lolly again. "This one's blueberry, and one of my favorites, so you  _have_  to take it."

The sixth year obediently accepted the lolly. Under Abigail's watchful eye, Neville tore away the wrapper and popped the sweet in his mouth. His eyes widened. "That's good!"

Abigail grinned, patting his cheek. "Damn right it is!" She pulled the lolly's paper stick from her mouth, vanishing it, then pulled a pink lolly from her robes. "I'll see you around Neville. Next time, I promise we'll have some fun together." She waved to him as she walked off, calling out to 'Poppy' that she was exploring again.

Madame Pomfrey found Neville with a smile as he came back with his potion, one more subdued than the grin he walked in with. It seemed he had made another friend, or was at the very least close to making one.


End file.
